Now You See Me, Now You Don't
by FHGVZEhyde
Summary: A horrible accident one night leaves Hotstreak dead and Dakota moves on, until Static finds out things aren’t always as they appear. It’s a race against time to mend the doings of an invisible foe and save someone who’s already gone.
1. Chapter 1: A Cold, Dark Night

**Now You See Me, Now You Don't**

A horrible accident one night leaves Hotstreak dead and Dakota moves on, until Static finds out things aren't always as they appear. It's a race against time to mend the doings of an invisible foe and save someone who's already dead.

**Chapter One: A Cold, Dark Night**

The docks of Dakota had seen little activity since the Big Bang over a year ago. Barges and freighters tended to keep to the Gotham side of the harbor and goods were transported by truck between the cities.

So on a cold evening in October, a flickering light should not have been seen making its way across the docks, around forgotten crates and dilapidated warehouses.

A man who lived across the street from the main entrance saw the light and called the police. Gangs frequented the area often, but he had a five-year-old asleep in the ratty apartment and didn't want any funny business going down.

The cops, upon receiving the call, notified Static via a system of walkie-talkies the hero had supplied the department with so they could communicate.

Across town, sixteen-year-old Virgil Hawkins was awoken by the buzzing of a walkie-talkie buried beneath layers of biology papers on his desk. Groggily, he answered, listened to the policeman's breakdown of the situation, and reached for his backpack on the floor by the head of his bed.

Virgil pulled on his Static costume, added a second layer to keep the chill away, and slipped the mask over his face. Then he called Richie Foley on the same walkie-talkie to wake up his partner.

"Rich…yo Rich pick up." Virgil pinched his nose to fight off a yawn.

"What?" Richie's voice crackled back, sounding annoyed. "I told you I'm not helping you with your biology homework."

Virgil rolled his eyes. "No, not that. I gave up on that. Got a call from the station, someone reported some suspicious activity down at the docks and they want us there for backup in case it's a meta."

"Oh, ok then. Meet you at the water tower in ten?" Virgil heard the bed springs creak as Richie got up and started getting ready.

"Sure. Dress warm. Forecasters said snow tonight." Virgil pulled his coat tightly around him and opened his bedroom window. Stepping out onto the fire escape, Virgil closed the window almost all the way shut so he could get back in later and pulled his disc from an inside coat pocket.

The young hero tossed the disc into the air and jumped over the railing, landing solidly on the thin metal disc and locking his feet magnetically. Static shot out of the alleyway and into the night sky, dodging around the winter's first few snowflakes as they fell silently over the sleeping metropolis.

* * *

Hotstreak held the flame higher over his head and looked around the massive warehouse. Almost every window was shattered and most of the crates had been looted, leaving a mess of splintered wood and broken glass over the grimy floor.

"I don't like this Ebon." Talon said, her voice echoing ominously off the walls.

Ebon turned around and his eyes narrowed. "Look, I stashed some money here last week and we need to get it back. You three just keep watch. It will only take a minute." The shadowy being melted into the darkness of the room beyond what Hotstreak's flames illuminated and disappeared into the back of the warehouse.

Talon huffed and hugged her wings closer to her body. Hotstreak wouldn't say it, but he agreed with her. Something about tonight seemed off, like they should be back at the hideout, clustered around each other trying to keep warm and not skulking through warehouses. The darkness seemed too still, the air too cold.

"I want to go back." Shiv whined, rubbing his ears impatiently and then convulsing with shivers.

"Just a few more minutes." Hotstreak said softly, trying to see where Ebon had gone.

Talon pressed herself against Hotstreak's front and then sighed in relief. "God, you're so warm."

Hotstreak was glad for the dark because his face was flushing as deep a red as his hair.

"Where is he? It's freezing." Shiv jumped up and down, as much out of impatience as it was to heat up.

Hotstreak was silent, head cocked a little to one side. "Did you guys hear that?"

"Hear what?" Talon asked. Shiv stopped jumping and looked at them.

Faintly, just ever so faintly, sirens could be heard in the distance.

"Ebon, time's up! Someone called the cops on us!" Talon shouted and started for the door.

Something dropped in the darkness where Ebon was and they heard him swear loudly. "I'm coming, get outside. Hold 'em off if I'm not there in three minutes."

Hotstreak let the ball of fire in his hand fade and then he, Talon, and Shiv crept out the door and into the night. A very thin layer of snow had gathered on the ground while they were inside, muffling their footsteps on the concrete. Swirling flakes floated around them.

"More than cops." Shiv pointed up. A shimmering purple dot was closing in on the dock, and fast.

"Static." Talon swore. Things had gotten very complicated very fast.

"All we have to do is hold them off, then make for the alley two blocks down. We'll meet up there." Hotstreak said, looking back to see if Ebon was done yet. He wasn't.

"Hey guys, what are you doing? There's been nothing good to steal at the docks for months. Or are you looking for someplace to crash with the other rats?" Static swooped low, smirking at his joke.

"Don't get us confused with Ferret hero." Hotstreak shot back.

"Someone's been working on his comebacks." Gear shot out from behind the warehouse and collided with Hotstreak's back. The two flew forward, Gear spiraling into the air on his jet skates and Hotstreak tumbling along the ground.

"Guess that means I get you two." Static cracked his knuckles and smiled. "Lucky me."

Talon and Shiv looked at each other and then back at Static. "I'd say its more like lucky us."

"Why would you say that?"

Shiv darted underneath Static, distracting him. The hero spun on his disc to follow Shiv's movements and Talon screeched, sending high-pitched sound waves at Static and dislodging him from his disc. Before Static could get to his feet, Shiv was on him, slicing this way and that with knives for hands.

Static retreated backwards and made a net of electricity, catching one of Shiv's hands and tossing the Asian teen behind him into a warehouse.

Talon screeched again but Static summoned his disc and jumped over the waves, regaining the advantage.

* * *

Gear pulled a zap-cap from his belt and hurled it at Hotstreak. The pyro shot it down before it got to him and launched a barrage of fireballs at Gear. One of his jet skates got tagged by the flames and sent Gear into a downward fall. He pulled up short of the ground and grabbed Hotstreak as he flew by him.

Gear flew Hotstreak into a lamppost, long devoid of electricity. Hotstreak swallowed a yelp and scrambled back to his feet as Gear came at him again, rotating his body to propel himself straight through the air as one his skates was malfunctioning.

Hotstreak brought up a wall of fire in front of him and Gear pulled up sharply to avoid it. Backpack jumped off of Gear's back and shot an ice missile at Hotstreak, which he nimbly dodged.

* * *

Talon grappled with Static, claw to hand. She tried to scratch him across the face and snagged his coat. They both fell to the ground.

Static powered up a tazer punch and hesitated. "My mom always said never to hit a girl." Shiv came barreling at them, screaming and waving an axe-hand. "Okay then." Static punched Shiv in the face and the crazy metahuman crumpled.

"One down," Static looked at Talon who had gotten back to her feet. "One to go."

Ebon ran from the warehouse and whistled loudly. "Let's get outta here!"

"Halt! Stay where you are!" Police cars rolled onto the scene, officers leapt form their cars and pointed guns at the three metahumans still standing.

Static looked beseechingly at Ebon. "Let's just make this easy, what do you say? I've got a biology test tomorrow and I need to get some sleep."

Ebon scoffed at the suggestion, hefting a stuffed backpack over one shoulder. "Since when do we do what you say hero?"

Hotstreak edged closer to Talon, keeping one eye on the cops. He stooped and slapped Shiv across the face. Slowly, Shiv stirred and a smile cracked his face. "That was awesome." Hotstreak rolled his eyes and helped Shiv to his feet.

Ebon swirled into a vortex and the police opened fire.

"Wait, don't!" Static yelled at the officers.

The bullets entered the vortex but Ebon was one step ahead of them. He opened another vortex above the cops and their bullets rained down on them.

"Anyone hurt!?" One of them called. Some moaned, no one appeared to have taken a critical hit.

Hotstreak, Talon, and Shiv took the moment of distraction and raced down the pier away from the fight. Static and Gear shot off in pursuit.

"How do we ditch 'em?" Shiv gasped as the three ran side-by-side.

Hotstreak looked behind them, Static and Gear were gaining. "I dunno."

"Quick, duck in here." Talon shoved them into a warehouse. "Head for the back, look for a way out or a sewer drain. Anything!"

They spread out, quickly moving for the back of the warehouse. "I found a grate!" Shiv yelled from the corner.

Static and Gear flew in the open door. "Stop you three!"

Static shot a beam of electric energy towards the sewer grate and held it shut, despite Shiv's efforts to open it.

"Just come quietly and your time will be deducted from." Gear reasoned.

"I prefer no time at all." Talon shouted back.

"C'mon, I don't have time for this. You know you're going to get caught; you might as well just give in. I'm sure Ebon's either gone and left you guys here or is in custody." Static shouted, losing his temper.

Talon spread her wings and jumped into the air, flying for a broken window near the ceiling of the warehouse. Static flew after her. Hotstreak and Shiv went at Gear who was blocking the doorway.

Static shot electricity at a large metal beam lying along the ground and threw it at Talon. She ducked it and glared at him.

The beam flew through the air and towards Gear, Hotstreak, and Shiv.

"Look out!" Gear shouted, leaping out of the way. Hotstreak turned around and the beam hit him in the head.

The force of the hit took Hotstreak off his feet and he flew a short distance, landing just in the doorway, half-in and half-out of the warehouse.

Static stopped with a start, his eyes widening. "H-hotstreak?"

Talon landed on a rafter and stared down at the still body of her teammate.

Only Gear moved, taking hesitant little steps over to Hotstreak, tapping a finger to the pyro's temple were a bruise was already blossoming across his pale face. His eyes were closed and his limbs were still. Gear breathed out anxiously and pressed two fingers to Hotstreak's throat.

"He's not…that didn't…did it?" Static stuttered, landing beside Gear.

Shiv backed away with a frightened look in his eyes. He had been the closest to Hotstreak; he had heard the sound the beam made when it connected with the pyro's skull and the last breath leaving his body in a gasp.

"Let's go." Talon gripped Shiv's shoulder.

"W-what?"

Talon pointed at the unguarded sewer grate. She looked hesitant about leaving but was more determined never to see the inside of a cell again than she was to see whether or not Hotstreak got up.

Shiv nodded and they crept to the grate, opened it, and slipped inside before Static or Gear noticed. They were too focused on Hotstreak.

"He's dead." Gear whispered.

A snowflake drifted from the sky and landed on Hotstreak's forehead, in stark contrast with the dark, angry bruise marring his skin. The heat that usually radiated from the eighteen-year-old metahuman was gone and he was as cold as the night air.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

So I am totally not done applying to college yet but I needed to write something. I thought of this concept yesterday and it intrigued me, so here, a new story. My first chapter's are always short...and provided I get feedback I will write more chapters that will be longer. I actually have a plot sort of thought out for this one and everything. An update probably won't come until after I finish applying to college though.

And hey, while I was gone fanfiction totally changed the layout of everything. I'm so confused! No me gusta! :(

Hope you found it interesting...

PLEASE REVIEW!

FHGVZEhyde


	2. Chapter 2: This Must be a Mistake

Disclaimer: I do not own Static Shock or any of its characters, even the really cool fiery ones.

**Chapter Two: This Must be a Mistake**

_**Dakota Tribune Monday News**_

_Metahuman Death Startles City_

Reporter Shelly Sandoval

Late last night, Francis Stone, aged eighteen, was announced dead at Dakota General Hospital. Better known as the metahuman Hotstreak, Stone was apparently fatally injured during a fight at Dakota' s docks with local heroes Static and Gear. Fellow fugitive metahumans, Ebon, Talon, and Shiv were also involved in the fight and are at large within the city.

"It was an accident, pure and simple. We were handling Ebon while Static and Gear were fighting the other three. I heard a lot of noise, and then quiet. It was the quiet that made me pause. Me and a few other officers went over to see what had happened and saw [Stone]," says Officer Jeremiah Bolden who was at the scene.

The police and hero squads were notified by Graham Trenton, a resident of the East Side.

"I noticed some people on the docks around one in the morning; I thought maybe it might be some bangers. I called the police and around two I heard gunfire. I'm just glad the situation was dealt with before more people were injured," says Trenton.

Heroes Static and Gear are remaining fairly quiet on the situation. Static, however, issued a statement regarding the accident.

"Gear and I feel horrible over Hotstreak's death, it should never have happened. I blame myself, things got out of hand and I should have acted differently in response to the situation. Containing the problem was the first step to preventing the problem and I failed in that respect."

Information is not readily available for the public at this point, but it is known that following the fight, Stone was transported to Dakota General and officially pronounced dead. According to early doctor reports, it appears as though a large, heavy object shattered part of Stone's skull, causing immediate death.

More answers will be provided upon Thursday's autopsy and the city will make an official statement.

Although Stone has been a problem for Dakota police over the years, through gang and metahuman activity, this reporter feels it is tragedy whenever a young person dies unnecessarily, no matter the circumstance.

* * *

Virgil crumpled the paper and threw it into the garbage can by the door to his bedroom. He had been sitting in his room all day, ignoring news on the television and radio. He had finally succumbed to his curiosity and ventured downstairs to get his father's morning paper.

All the report did was confirm that last night had not been some horrific nightmare.

Virgil rubbed his eyes tiredly and crawled beneath the covers, pulling the sheets over his head. He had never seen dead person up close before, never mind being the main factor in killing them in the first place.

He groaned and turned onto his side. So what if he hadn't liked Hotstreak. That didn't mean he wanted him dead.

"Virgil, hey Virgil. I know you're there, pick up bro." The shock vox buzzed from beneath the bed where Virgil had thrown his costume after getting home.

Groping blindly, Virgil managed to find the walkie-talkie. "What?"

"It was not your fault."

"I don't want to talk about this."

"You missed school today, what about that biology test? You can't shut down because you feel guilty." Richie implored desperately.

Virgil didn't want to hear it.

"Look, I'll see you tomorrow, ok?" Virgil tossed the shock vox to the ground and closed his eyes.

* * *

Slowly, green eyes opened. The eyelids fluttered and the brow creased, a hand flew to shield the face from the bright morning sun.

"_Francis Stone?_"

Blinking rapidly, the boy sat up, and collapsed to the ground again with a cry of pain, clutching his head.

"_Francis Stone?_" The voice asked again.

"W-what?" The boy managed, choking back more screams.

"_My name is Jason. You have to come with me._"

Francis raised his head; one hand pressed to his forehead, and looked around him. There was no one there. Slowly, he struggled to his knees. His vision blurred and blackened, leaving him reeling and gasping on the ground once more.

Francis tried again, grabbing a nearby doorframe for support as his knees buckled from the pain, but he stayed upright. There was a blinding glare coming off of the fresh fallen snow from the morning light. It was silent. Francis looked up and down the docks, and then back into the warehouse he was leaning against. "Wasn't I here last night?"

"Yes you were."

Francis jumped at the voice and noticed for the first time a young man with cropped brown hair, who was wearing all white, standing a few feet in front of him.

"Where did you come from?" Francis asked.

"My name is Jason, I am an angel. You need to come with me now." The man repeated, extending a hand towards Francis.

Francis scoffed. "This is a joke, you're kidding me. An angel? Get real man."

Jason raised an eyebrow bemusedly. "Last night you died. I am here to escort you to the afterlife. Now please, time is of the essence."

Francis touched his head and then stepped back from the angel. "No."

Jason frowned and stepped forward. Francis stepped back again and tripped over a warped floorboard. Jason reached out to stop Francis from falling but his helping hand went straight through Francis' arm.

Francis lay on the floor groaning. Jason stared at his own hand. "This…this has never happened before."

Jason bent over Francis and studied the teen. "What are you doing?" Francis asked, trying to sit up.

"Stay still." Jason moved to touch Francis' forehead where a large bruise colored the skin and again, his hand vanished into Francis' skull. Jason and Francis shivered and winced and Jason quickly removed his hand. "Strange." Jason commented, studying Francis again.

Jason reached for Francis' wrist, as though to grab it, and his hand passed through Francis' body as if the young metahuman wasn't even there.

"How are you doing that?" Francis asked, watching Jason's movements.

"I am not the one doing this." Jason straightened and walked out of the warehouse and looked back over his shoulder at Francis. "I must report this. Don't go anywhere." In a sudden flash of light, Jason was gone.

Francis scrambled to his feet, brushing off the now familiar dizziness that accompanied quick movement and stared at the spot where Jason had just been standing. There weren't even footprints visible in the snow. "Yeah, stay here. Right." Francis scoffed again and walked from the warehouse, making for the center of Dakota.

* * *

It was a busy Monday morning and Dakota was thriving with life. Commuters made traffic difficult as they did everyday, students were in school studying, and shops were opening their doors to the streets. It was an average day by all standards, the new layer of snow giving everything an extra sheen of sparkle.

Francis watched the bustle from an alley and felt envious. He wanted to prove the angel, Francis shook his head. Not an angel…that would be crazy. That weird guy, much better, wrong. He wasn't dead, there was no way he was dead.

Francis started to head out into the street, maybe wreak a little havoc and prove that he was still alive, when he passed a window on the side of the building. Francis stopped and backed up, looking at the glass. Francis could see the opposite building, the trash cans waiting to be emptied, the flakes of snow swirling through the air. He couldn't see himself. Francis waved a hand at the glass and frowned. Where was his reflection?

Francis stared at the glass for a second more and then shook himself. This…this didn't prove anything. He ran out to the street and conjured a fireball into his hand. Or tried to at least. Francis's outstretched palm was devoid of flame. "What, why can't I ignite?" Francis snapped his fingers, one of his favorite tricks, expecting flames to jump as his fingers touched. Not even a spark.

A man in a suit was rushing by, a scarf wrapped around his neck, head down against the wind. He was obviously on his way to work and had a bulging briefcase tucked beneath one arm. Francis stepped in front of him, arms outstretched. "Excuse me sir…"

The man passed right through Francis, stopped and shivered, then pulled the scarf tighter around his neck before hurrying along. Francis grimaced as he felt the man's body push through him and out and fell to the ground. "This isn't happening."

"What's not happening young man?"

Francis' head jerked up. "You heard me?" There was an elderly man leaning against the building, looking at Francis with an amused smile.

"Of course I can hear you. I'm not deaf. You must be new, huh?" The man straightened and held out a hand to help Francis up. The metahuman hesitated before grabbing hold of the leathery hand, the solid leathery hand, and being hauled to his feet.

"Thanks." Francis smiled.

"No problem. I see a lot of that; don't know what's solid and what's not. You get the hang of it." The man turned his eyes heavenward and watched as the snow fell around him.

Francis' heart dropped. "What, what do you mean?"

"You mean no one's told you yet? Boy, in my day there would be Specs jumping all over a newbie Spree like you." The man shook his head, white hair jumping from beneath a fedora as he lamented the olden times. "Nothing's the same. Young people, no ambition."

Francis swallowed a growl. "What are you talking about?"

The man looked at Francis and grinned a little, showing missing teeth. "Why, you're dead aren't you?"

Francis' eyes widened.

The man laughed. "But that's only the half of it. Exactly half as it were."

"What, half of what? Am I dead?" Francis wanted to shout but restrained himself. This old man was the only one who had offered him any real information. "Just say it already!"

The grin widened. "You'll get it. Maybe this'll give you some motivation. Young people don't have enough motivation nowadays either."

It was at that moment that Jason the angel chose to reappear. There was a flash of light and Francis was pulled back into the alley.

Jason was looking at Francis with the same curiosity as he had earlier that morning. "I told you to stay at the docks."

"And If I told you to go fuck yourself, would you?" Francis had had enough. The banger side of him was coming out, and it was mad. "What the hell is going on, and you had better give me a better answer than that crazy old geezer."

Jason shrugged one shoulder almost apologetically. "You're out of my jurisdiction."

"Aaaaand…that means what exactly?" Francis growled.

"Well, it would appear you're not dead…" Francis brightened considerably. Jason held up a hand as if to say, here's the catch. "…but you're also not alive."

Francis arched an eyebrow. "Uh huh."

Jason shrugged again. "That's all that I can tell you. Your kind is unknown to me."

"My kind?"

"I'm sure they'll tell you themselves. " Jason glanced at a large golden watch on his wrist. "I should be in Amsterdam now, late night drunken brawl near a bridge over a frozen river." Jason winced. 'Not going to be pretty. Best of luck." Jason held his hand out to shake.

Francis looked at it, then at his own hand.

Jason laughed. "Oh yes, just the same." He waved instead and was gone in another flash.

Francis stared at the ground, fists clenching and unclenching. Not dead, but not alive. Then what the hell was he?

"I've got to find Static." Francis darted back to the street. If anyone could help him now, it would be Static and Gear. With a brain like Gear had, he would be able to figure something out…probably.

Francis dodged pedestrians as he charged down the sidewalk. Just because he couldn't hit them didn't mean the feeling of someone bursting in and out of you was pleasant. It made Francis' skin crawl.

As he passed a newsstand, Francis caught a glimpse of today's front page headline.

_Metahuman Death Startles City_

"Aw geeze." Francis stopped to catch his breath and read the short article. As last night's events unfolded in print before his eyes, Francis remembered. He saw the beam flying at him, wished he had ducked when Gear had, and saw Shiv's face turn white. He heard and felt his skull shattering, the split second of terrible pain, and then black.

Francis' hand went to his forehead and knew why it had hurt all morning. His fingers traced the black and blue marking; he didn't need a reflection to know where it was. Francis' hand dropped to his side and he turned from the newsstand.

No one should have to remember their own death.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

I'm still waiting for the longer chapters to come and I'm sure you are too. This one is like, 30 words longer than the first chapter. Oh well, at least I updated. I have this huge detailed list now. Not a plot outline mind you, a list on things like Sprees and Specs...which will be explained later, as will the old man and his half clue. I feel like JK, creating a world beyond a world.

You all were so worried that because I killed Francis, he wouldn't be in the story. Go back and read the summary again will you, I said they're going to try and save him didn't I? How could I get rid of my favorite character? I'm not heartless. This story is ABOUT Francis. (As all my stories are) Don't worry. Take deep breaths.

And yes, that's Jason from FARD making a cameo appearance. Don't worry, that story has ZERO connections to this story plot wise. I just think my angel idea works for death is all.

PLEASE REVIEW!


	3. Chapter 3: No One Mourns the Wicked

Disclaimer: I still do not own Static Shock, damn.

**Chapter Three: No One Mourns the Wicked**

It was strange being dead, or mostly dead if you wanted to be specific. What was your purpose? What did you do all day? Francis had no idea what to do with himself. He wandered the city aimlessly all morning and into the afternoon, adjusting to the surreal new way he could move about. Francis could pass right through a living person's body, but he didn't like to. It made his skin crawl and he noticed the people he passed through always shivered with a sudden coldness when he did.

Francis could also pass through windows or doors, once not looking where he was going he had walked into an electronics store and through several display cases before realizing what he had done. No one noticed him. No one except that crazy old man from earlier. Francis kept one eye open for him, hoping to get some answers to his questions, but to no avail. The old man was no where to be found.

He had wanted to find Static and try and make contact with him, but Francis realized that, superhero or no, Static was just a kid and probably in school somewhere.

Most of the snow from the morning had melted to slush and been stained gray by exhaust. It was still cold, or it was judging by how bundled up people were. Francis couldn't really feel the chill. He was only wearing the sweatshirt he had been wearing the night before at the docks but the wind and snow passed through him like everything else.

Francis sat on the curb and watched people hurry by, in car or by foot and wondered what time it was. The closest school was Dakota Union High, his old haunting grounds, pardon the expression. School got out at two-thirty and he could walk by there, maybe get a glimpse of Static heading off on patrol or something, if he actually went to school there.

The pain in Francis' forehead had dulled to a mild throb. Francis was surprised it didn't hurt more; the injury had killed him after all.

Finally, figuring he had wasted enough of the morning, Francis wandered over to Dakota Union.

The school had changed little since Francis had attended. If things had gone as planned, he would have graduated last summer. He was one of the youngest in his class, a fact that very few people knew. He had been busy the second half of his senior year, probably robbing banks, and hadn't managed to return to school at all after the Bang except for one disastrous week his parole officer had arranged.

There was still the same old graffiti marking every wall, some tasteful and artsy, some less so. The usual slackers, gang bangers or stoners cutting class, lounged around the front steps. All the other students were inside. Francis looked up at the clock which hung above the entrance; school wouldn't end for another hour.

Francis shrugged and bounded up the stairs two at time, brushing through a banger and the doors.

Classes were in session and the hallways were empty. Francis walked around aimlessly with his hands in his pockets until he stumbled upon the gym. The thud of basketballs bouncing off the wooden floor resounded through the halls and Francis felt drawn to it. It was the first sound he had heard since he had entered the school.

Francis walked through the gym doors and stood watching the class. Most of them were playing basketball in teams of two or three. A group of girls were playing Lightning at an out of the way basket.

"I still can't believe it, that's the first real Bang Baby death."

Francis' ear perked up at the sentence and he turned to the bleachers. Not participating, Frieda Goren, Daisy Watkins, and Richie Foley sat in a group. Frieda had the newspaper in her hands, open to a page with Francis' picture on it. Francis frowned; it was a shot of him taken from news footage of a fight with Static. He looked slightly manic, and he was, but still.

"Yeah, they've been running around for almost a year and nothing like this has happened." Daisy added.

Richie's face was gaunt, he looked tired, and he was frowning. Francis raised an eyebrow. "Why so serious Foley?"

"It's always a shame when a person dies; no matter how big a jerk they were in real life." Frieda tossed the newspaper to the ground.

"And he was the biggest." Daisy agreed.

Francis frowned.

"You shouldn't speak ill about the dead." Richie muttered.

"What is with you Rich? You've been nothing but a grouch all day." Frieda countered.

Richie shrugged. "I'm not feeling well."

Daisy put a hand to his forehead. "You don't have a temperature."

"Mighta been something I ate." Richie ducked away from his friend's hand and stood up, stretching his back. Francis noted that Richie seemed to have bulked up in the last year. What had happened to the little dork he could push around? This Richie was pretty ripped for a kid.

Francis raised his other eyebrow. What was going on around here?

"I'm not speaking ill anyway; I'm just speaking the truth. The news has been bashing Hotstreak a lot worse than I just did. He was a banger and a destructive pain in the ass no matter how you spin it. And worse, he purposely did all those things. You can't die and expect people to make a saint out of you. Even if it was an accident and Hotstreak should be sitting in prison right now instead of the hospital morgue, it wouldn't make a difference." Frieda defended herself and then jabbed a finger in Richie's direction. "You and I should know Rich, he was a bully and a pig and Static's job will be a lot easier without him around."

"Ouch." Francis looked from Frieda to Richie and back again. Had he pissed _that_ many people off _that_ badly? He knew he wasn't a good person, but this?

"I hear you. I'm not disagreeing." Richie finally said. "I'm just tired is all, don't mind me."

"What do you guys say we talk about something else now? All this death is depressing me." Daisy picked up the newspaper and folded it over so that Francis' picture was no longer showing. "Do you want to go to a movie this weekend? We can celebrate making it through that Bio test."

"Virgil has to make that up." Frieda pointed out.

"I got the highest grade in the class." Richie boasted.

Daisy rolled her eyes. "You always get the highest grade in the class." She snapped her fingers in realization. "Virgil's sick today, maybe you caught something from him." She punched Richie lightly in the arm. "You two have been inseparable lately."

Frieda hadn't said a word in a few minutes, which was unlike her. Francis looked at her and saw guilt and anger conflicting in her features.

The gym teacher blew his whistle and the basketball games stopped. "Hit the showers guys. Class ends in ten minutes."

The kids racked the basketballs and filed out of the gym towards the locker rooms to change. As Virgil and his group got up, Francis saw Frieda take the newspaper and slip it into her backpack.

He had been an ass to her, and to a lot of other people. Francis had never stopped to consider how damaging his behavior had been. Yet, Frieda still felt guilty for saying things that were true. She didn't deserve to feel that way.

"I'm sorry." Francis said as Frieda walked past him.

She couldn't hear him, but he felt like he needed to say it anyway. It was the least he could do.

* * *

Now that the bell had rung, the hallways were crawling with teenagers. There was no way Francis could navigate to the entrance without blasting through some people. He waited until the main rush of students had left and only those going to after school clubs or sports were left, and then they too went off to meetings or the locker rooms.

Francis hadn't seen anyone that even remotely looked like Static so he left the school, wondering what to do now. It was then that he heard the rustle in the bushes behind the quad.

The quad was an outdoors area where many students ate lunch at benches scattered around a small enclosure. There were bushes and trees surrounding the clearing, unusual for a city. Francis dipped through a bush, grimacing as he felt leaves and twigs pull at him before he was lying on his stomach, looking into the undergrowth.

Richie Foley was squatting in the bushes, looking fairly at home for someone in a bush. The nerdy teen was holding a walkie-talkie and his backpack was open. Francis caught a glimpse of something metallic.

"Yo V, you up for patrol tonight?" Richie spoke into the walkie-talkie.

"Yeah, I guess. I feel so trashed Rich."

Francis considered the statement. Trashed, as in drunk? Francis couldn't see Virgil the little do-gooder drinking anything alcoholic…ever.

"I did too today. Frieda and Daisy were on my case. I should have called in sick like you."

Richie Foley had gone to school with a hangover? That sounded even worse than Virgil Hawkins drunk. Francis frowned. They had to be talking about something else.

"Yeah, well, now Mr. Simmons is gonna be on my case about that Bio test. Meet you at HQ in five?"

Richie smiled. "Sounds good, see you then."

HQ?

Richie reached a hand into his back pack and pulled out a green and white costume, quickly stripping down to his underwear and changing in little less than two minutes. It was a practiced habit, that much was obvious. This must not have been his first in-bush change.

Francis' mouth dropped open. Despite the hints and subtleties Foley had been dropping all day, he had never thought he'd be seeing what he was seeing.

Richie Foley was Gear.

Gear's sidekick companion, Backpack, crawled out of the fabric backpack and onto Gear's back, strapping onto his shoulders with ease. Gear stuffed his normal backpack and street clothes farther into the bush and stood up, activating his jet skates and flying into the air. He was out of sight in moments.

Francis stood up, this time not noticing the annoying prick of twigs. If Richie was Gear, then that meant that Virgil was Static.

"Oh shit." Francis swore.

* * *

It was no use trying to follow Gear and he had no idea where their HQ was so Francis wandered around the city for a few more hours.

Occasionally he got the feeling he was being watched but with everyone staring right through him without actually seeing him, Francis could never tell.

Towards the end of the afternoon, Francis found himself outside Dakota General Hospital.

"The paper said my body was being held here, maybe I can get a look." Francis thought aloud, as he had taken to doing that day with no one else to talk to. "Then again, do I really want to see my own corpse?" Francis thought back to the old man from earlier. "If I'm not entirely dead, then my body may not be gone forever." With that, Francis hopped onto the first step.

A sharp, searing pain jumped up Francis' leg and he yelped. Falling backward, Francis clutched his leg and hissed in shock and hurt. He sat on the sidewalk for a few minutes until the pain subsided.

"What the…?" Francis rubbed his leg uncomfortably and stood up. His leg had felt fine right up until he had touched the steps. Francis edged over and tentatively touched his foot to the bottom step. Again, pain shot through the limb and Francis jumped back.

"What gives?" Francis whined, examining the steps. He had walked up and down these same stairs a dozen times in his life, most of those times either unwillingly or unconscious, but still. Why would they react negatively to him now?

Francis took in a deep breath and took a running start. He bounded up the steps in two leaps, both legs getting a taste of the pain. Francis fell through the sliding doors, through an elderly woman in a wheelchair and lay gasping for breath on the tiled floor for several long minutes. His legs ached, but there didn't seem to be any lasting effects. The pain subsided after a little while.

Shakily, Francis rose to his feet and headed for the elevator. He knew enough about hospitals to know that the morgue was always in the basement. When the doors opened, Francis let the group of people out, dodged the three who got in and then stepped in behind them.

His foot fell through the elevator's floor and his body followed it. Francis yelled again as he plummeted through the elevator shaft and landed with a thud at the bottom. Francis groaned once and stood up, amazed he wasn't injured. He even poked his appendages a few times to make sure of it. A fall like that would have killed someone. That is, if they weren't already dead.

Francis groaned again, out of the frustration, and looked up. The closed doors to the basement floor were a few feet above him. Francis jumped, grasped the edge and hoisted himself up, stepping through the doors easily. He was starting to get the hang of being a whatever he was. Francis passed through items made of plastic or metal, but rock seemed able to hold him back. Streets, sidewalks, and the concrete elevator shaft were solid to him but doors were not.

There were very few doctors working the morgue. Francis imagined it must be a morbid specialty to have. Most of the rooms were empty, so no autopsies were taking place at the moment. "Good, I don't want to see that." Francis muttered, walking by one of the rooms and shuddering at the sight of the freezers with doors to place bodies in. Then he remembered his own autopsy was to take place on Thursday. "Shit." Francis swore again.

"I'm glad I'm not the one assigned to it." Two doctors passed by in conversation.

"Me neither, it's a freaking media bonanza." The other agreed.

Francis raised an eyebrow and grinned. They had to be talking about him. He was the only newsworthy thing that had happened recently. Francis crept to the room the two doctors had just come out of.

The room was dark, but Francis could see the gurney in the middle of the room was occupied. He gulped and braced himself, and then he approached the gurney.

He didn't look so good.

Francis had seen dead people before, had had more experience with them than most but still, this was morbid to the nth degree. Francis stared down at himself. Deathly pale and cold, eyes thankfully closed, and a horrific bruise smothering his forehead. Francis took a step back, breathing hard, and clenching and unclenching his fists without realizing it.

This wasn't fair.

Francis felt tears spring into his eyes but didn't let them fall. He could handle being dead and he could handle being alive. But what the fuck was this? This demented third world where nothing made sense and no one could help him. It wasn't fair, this wasn't supposed to happen.

Francis bolted from the room and stood stock still in the hallway, hands cramping from how tightly he was squeezing them together. He caught his breath and collected his thoughts. Panicking wasn't going to help him. Francis had to find somebody who could.

Pushing Static and Gear into second place, Francis thought of the old man. The only one who had made any semblance of sense, even if it was in riddle form. The old man had known what was happening to Francis, he could at least get some answers out of him.

Francis walked back to the elevator and then remembered, how was he going to get back up the shaft?

Thankfully, hospitals come equipped with stairs, and these ones didn't burn his feet.

* * *

Francis jumped all the steps on his way out, landing in a crouch on the sidewalk, and then walked back towards Main Street where he had encountered the old man earlier. It was his best bet.

Something stopped Francis. It was that nagging feeling of being watched, but stronger than ever. All the hairs on Francis' neck stood up and he shivered violently.

Then he heard galloping, fast approaching from behind him.

"A horse, in Dakota?"

Francis whirled around and fell back as a huge brown horse reared up inches from his face. Francis threw an arm in front of him and scrambled backwards as the horse thudded down to all fours where he had just been sitting.

"The hell?" Francis looked up at the rider.

It was a youngish looking man, in his middle twenties, with ear-length blond hair and a beard and mustache to match. He had a rifle slung over one shoulder and a pistol at his side. In his boot was a hunting knife. The man was dressed all in leather and cotton, looking weather stained and travel worn. He gave Francis a cold stare from underneath a wide brimmed cowboy hat.

"Hold Spree." The man ordered in a gravelly drawl.

Francis stood up and returned the man's glare, adding a smirk. "Are you talking to me?"

The man raised an eyebrow. "You better believe I am Spree. Show some respect."

"To you?" Francis sneered. "Not likely."

The man's gray eyes hardened. "I do so enjoy breaking in the new Sprees, you'll learn your place like the others did."

"Again, not likely. What's a Spree anyway and who are you?" Someone from this realm had actually found Francis; he wasn't going to let the chance to get some answers get away.

"You'll find out in time. Where's your body at, the cemetery? What's your name and I'll go claim your soul to add to my collection." The man touched his pistol with one hand and held onto the reins with the other. The horse looked jittery, it kept stomping its hooves. Francis had never been an animal person; the horse's behavior was making him nervous too. Then he noticed the horse had the same gray eyes as the man. The man's hand was twitching by the pistol the same way the horse's hooves were jumping. Francis catalogued the information for later.

"Your collection, you collect souls? Are you in charge or is there someone else I can go talk to because I'm not a big fan of yours right now." Francis took a step back. The man and his horse advanced closer. In a flash the pistol was drawn and pointed at Francis' chest.

Francis felt panic for a moment, and then remembered that metal passed through him. "Fuck off dude; you're not getting my soul."

The man shrugged and pulled the trigger.

Francis felt the bullet go through him, taking longer and pulling harder than usual. Francis gasped in pain and finally the bullet burst out his back. Francis fell to his knees and held his chest. There was no blood and the pain was fading bit by bit, but that had hurt.

"Want to try another?" The man cocked the pistol.

Francis glared at him.

"Where is your body?" The man asked, angling the gun at Francis' head.

"Back there." Francis nodded in the direction of the hospital.

The man turned in his saddle and his eyes widened for a moment. "The hospital? God damn it." The man faced Francis and smirked briefly. "I'll be seeing you Spree. You can count on that." Pulling his horse in the opposite direction, the man galloped away, crashing through people walking without them noticing it.

Francis stood and rubbed his chest. The pain was mostly gone now. "What was that?!" Francis yelled, running a hand agitatedly through his hair.

"That was some impressive display of courage young man."

Francis turned slowly.

A few feet away, the old man was looking at him, smiling faintly. "Come on. I think you need a few things explained to you." The old man began to walk away.

Francis hesitated, and then followed him.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

I apologize for the suckitude of this chapter. I just realized how long it's been since I updated soo...yeah, sorry about that. On another note, I've been thinking lately (what with Static back on Disney XD and an influx of inspiration) Who would best portray Hotstreak in a live-action Static Shock movie. (They're not making one, this is speculation) I thought Channing Tatum has the looks and the right attitude but then Tyler Hilton has the voice, which we all know is important. Don't know who I'm talking about? Look them up on google images. I would paste links but they don't work. I'm actually really curious what you guys think so let me know.

PLEASE REVIEW!

FHGVZEhyde


	4. Chapter 4: Gaggle of Ghosts

Disclaimer: Me no own Static Shock.

**Chapter Four: Gaggle of Ghosts**

"Please tell me you're going to _actually_ tell me what's going on." Francis asked after following the old man for several minutes. They had been moving rapidly through the city since leaving the man on the horse and neither had spoken. Francis stopped walking. "I've been wandering around all day, no one can hear me, and no one can see me. That stupid angel said I was out of his jurisdiction and the paper said I died last night so please, tell me what is happening."

The old man stopped, turned, and stuck out his hand. "My name is Bernard Harrison."

Francis rolled his eyes in exasperation but shook hands. "Francis Stone."

"You don't look like a Francis." Bernard smiled.

Francis smirked. "I know."

"It sounds to me like you've had a rough day. I was sure when I saw you this morning that Darryl would have found you hours ago and cleared all this up. I apologize for not being more forward, would've have saved you a lot of trouble I'm sure." Bernard turned and kept walking. He was heading for the west side of Dakota, the shady side. Gangs and poverty ran amok in that area. Francis knew it well, he had grown up there.

Francis followed confusedly. "Where are we going?" He hadn't been to the west side in years.

Bernard looked over his shoulder and didn't even wince when a car rolled through him. "I'm probably you're best source of information, but it might be better for you to get the group's opinion."

Francis sidestepped a taxi and hopped onto the sidewalk, struggling to keep up with Bernard's pace. The old guy could really move. Then again, he didn't seem to mind walking through things while Francis did.

"There are more of us?"

Bernard laughed, his face crinkling with well worn wrinkles. "Probably a few thousand worldwide, but just five of us here in Dakota. Well, six now that you're here." Bernard's brow furrowed as he considered something. "I hear Gotham's got over ten, but it could just be a rumor."

"Six of what?" Francis hurried to Bernard's side and frowned at him. "You said you were going to be more specific but you're really not."

Bernard cast Francis a side-long glance and smiled again. His jovial attitude seemed unflappable. "I'm just waiting until we get back home. Then you can ask any question you want and I'll answer it."

"You'd better." Francis muttered. He itched to conjure up a flame, he liked the warmth in his palm when he did, it was comforting, but he couldn't even feel his powers anymore let alone use them.

"Patience is a virtue young man. Aaah, here we are." Bernard stopped in front of a sewer grating. Francis raised an eyebrow questioningly.

Bernard stepped off the sidewalk and plummeted through the grate. Francis followed.

They landed in a shallow pool of water without making a splash. Francis shivered and looked down; the water was flowing in and out of his ankles. "How can we do that? Some things hold us but others don't?"

Bernard looked at Francis and nodded. "You're right, concrete items hold our essence largely in place, but with metals and plastic there's some displacement. Handy really, you can get up and down town much faster."

"But I don't like it, it makes me feel…weird." Francis couldn't find a more appropriate word.

Bernard nodded again. "That fades with time. Right through here." Bernard passed through a steel plate and Francis followed after.

He found himself in a small room with corridors branching off in different directions. There was a concrete mound in the middle of the room and single light bulb faintly lit the area. Bernard picked up a metal tine, screwing his face up in some effort, and clanged a metal triangle that hung from a hook in the ceiling.

"But you just said we can't do that." Francis said, pointing at the tine.

Bernard dropped it hastily, shaking out his hand. "If you really concentrate, deeply and with no other thought running through your mind, then you can manipulate other items. But only for a short period of time and only one thing at a time." Bernard eyes the tine warily. "I'm not very good at it I'm afraid. Too much effort I suppose."

"Why are you calling a meeting Bernie?" A young woman walked out of the one of the corridors, yawning. "I was in the middle of…oh." She caught sight of Francis. "Hello."

"Hi." Francis dipped his head in greeting.

"Is he the new guy?" The woman asked Bernard.

"Yes. Paige, this is Francis Stone. Francis, this is Paige MacDonald."

Paige walked forward and shook Francis' hand. "Pleasure to meet you."

"Huh, same here." Francis smiled nervously. Paige was beautiful.

Paige settled on the ground near the mound and patted the space to her right. Francis sat down. "The others will be out in a minute; they're not the most social of people." Paige laid a hand on Francis' arm. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. She looked a few years older than him, had blonde hair held back in a ponytail with wisps in her face and shining blue eyes. Her clothes looked dated and her smile was warming; Francis liked her hand on his arm.

Slowly, two more people appeared out of the dark hallways. One was a middle aged man, with the beginnings of a balding head of brown hair. He was wearing a rumpled suit with the tie partially undone and a sad, lonely look was in his eyes. One lens of his glasses was cracked. The other was a Hispanic woman who appeared to be around thirty, with dark hair circling her face and wearing a flowery top which left her arms bare. She had a withdrawn look about her.

They both glanced at Francis and then settled on the ground around the mound. Bernard sat then as well, looking at the five younger people around him.

"Francis, this is Laura and Curtis." Bernard introduced them.

Francis nodded at the two. They barely returned the greeting.

Bernard ran a hand through his long white hair and then began. "This is our little group, we all live here. We each have a space down one of the halls; you can pick yours out later. Right now, I believe you have some questions for us."

Paige removed her hand and Francis looked at the four faces, taking a deep breath. "Okay, to begin with, what are we?"

"The undead." Paige said simply. Francis' eyes widened.

"But not how you think of the undead." Curtis added hastily, seeing the look on Francis' face. "All these silly movies about zombies and that such, we're completely different."

"We're what you would probably call ghosts, but it's a smidge more complex than your average horror story." Bernard explained. "There are different levels of ghostdom, a hierarchy. We are the lowest level, the Sprees."

"Yeah, what does that mean? And didn't you say something about Specs earlier?" Francis asked.

Bernard nodded. "Spree is short for spirit, a sort of jargon that exists in this other realm. Spec is short for Spectre."

"There are others too." Laura said.

"Toms are Phantoms and then there are Demons." Paige explained.

"What, no clever nickname for Demons?" Francis joked.

Curtis shook his head gravely. "Trust me, Demons are no joking matter."

Bernard nodded his agreement. "You ever meet a demon Francis, which is highly unlikely; you turn tail and run the other way as fast as you can. They are the highest order of ghost, as well as the most feared and the most powerful. But there are very few of them in existence and most of them live in castles or somewhere like that in Europe where they have had time to develop over the years."

"So, it goes Sprees, Specs, Toms, Demons?" Francis asked.

"That's right." Paige said.

"Okay then, how are Sprees made. What happens to us?"

Bernard fielded the question. "We die, but in a very specific manner. After all, not everyone who dies becomes a Spree. Deaths from old age or disease take a long time and allow the soul of a person to settle into the body in readiness for death. It takes a very sudden and violent death to become a Spree. That way, the soul has no time to settle, it is torn from the body so that the body dies, but the soul lives on. Of course, some people die this way without becoming ghosts."

"All of us died that way." Paige added, gesturing to the ragtag group.

"I drowned in 1886." Bernard answered.

"I accidentally hung myself hanging lights on my Christmas tree in 1967." Paige explained, smiling lightly.

"Car crash in '82." Curtis added.

"My boyfriend shot me four years ago." Laura shrugged.

Francis felt his jaw go slack. "Wow, that's…but that's horrible."

Paige nodded. "Yeah, I'm surprised you didn't notice earlier." She rubbed her neck. Francis hadn't noticed before, but there was raw red skin with bloody lacerations circling Paige's throat. He looked at the other three. There was nothing noticeable about Bernard but there was a large red stain in Curtis' side and a small gory hole just below Laura's collarbone.

"Shit." Francis exhaled slowly.

"Let me guess. Something to do with your head." Paige reached up and touched the bruise on Francis' forehead. He winced a little and pulled away.

"This is so…much." Francis sat back, feeling exhausted.

"When you become a Spree, you remain the way you were when you died." Bernard explained.

"And we're all Sprees?" Francis motioned to the group. Four nods answered his question. "Then what was that guy with the horse?"

"Darryl Winslow." Paige spat contemptuously.

Bernard leaned forward. "Darryl is a Spec, the only one in Dakota. He is more powerful than any of us and basically controls our entire existence." He looked at Laura, Curtis, and Paige. "Francis here showed Darryl up today, took a bullet with no fear." Bernard looked at Francis. "Darryl died with his guns so he can still use them. And because they're ghostly items, they work on us. Also, his horse died at the exact moment that he did, which means their souls intertwined as they tore from their bodies. They are one entity." Bernard turned back to the group. "Francis told him his body was at the hospital."

All four Sprees turned to look at Francis, Paige was smiling with pride. "Way to go Francis!"

Francis felt his face flush. "What was so great about that?"

"Well for one thing, those bullets hurt like hell." Curtis interjected.

"You only get a finite number of those bullet wounds without it doing some serious damage to your essence." Bernard added. "You turned Darryl's greatest weapon on its head by just accepting it like that."

"Quick thinking with the hospital move, that will keep Darryl off your trail for a while." Laura said. "The longer you can put off the harvest the better."

Paige nodded. "Yeah, the harvest hurts like bitch. Worse than bullets."

"What's the harvest?" Francis asked. He was rather enjoying the attention.

Bernard answered the question. "As a Spec, Darryl has the power to make Sprees subordinate to him. If there were a Tom in Dakota, they could do the same to Darryl, but no such luck. He embeds a medallion in your body, the one you had when you were alive."

"The one made of flesh." Paige added.

"Yes, I get it." Francis said, feeling a little queasy.

"Right here." Bernard pointed to his chest, right below the heart.

"Then the medallion becomes a part of you." Paige pulled a golden chain from beneath her shirt and held it up for Francis to see. From the end of the chain dangled a circular medallion. It was a simple white disc with symbols etched into it in black. Francis looked at the others and saw gleams of gold from underneath their collars as well.

"That medallion binds you to this realm and to Darryl. " Bernard said sadly. "We are all victims of his harvest."

Francis stared at the concrete mound, feeling sick to his stomach. Darryl wanted to do this to him. He wanted to make Francis his property, his item. "I'm not going to let him do that to me." He said finally.

Paige's hand was back on Francis' arm in a comforting manner. "You don't have much of a choice. Once Darryl finds out where your body really is…"

"I wasn't lying." Francis interrupted her.

Paige's eyes widened. "What?"

"My body _is_ at the hospital."

Silence greeted this revelation.

Francis looked up. Everyone's face held a look of shock and disbelief. "What is the importance of the hospital?"

Bernard shook his head numbly. "I don't believe it. But of course, you had no idea about anything having to do with this realm; you wouldn't have been able to lie about that."

"Please tell me." Francis urged.

Bernard looked at him. "The hospital is built of limestone, the only building in Dakota made of limestone actually. There are chemicals in limestone that repel the essences of ghosts. It is painful, to enter that building is to risk your essence falling to pieces, to risk not existing in this realm or any other. No ghost can enter that building."

"I did." Francis said.

"Impossible." Curtis scoffed.

Laura nodded in agreement with Curtis. Paige and Bernard were staring at Francis with amazement.

"How?" Paige asked breathlessly.

"I mean, the steps did hurt to touch, but the pain went away. I went inside. I wanted to see my body." Francis explained, shrugging his shoulders. "It wasn't a big deal."

Bernard gasped suddenly. "It may be…it may be that you have a chance."

"He can't, that's never happened." Laura argued.

"Chance at what?" Francis asked.

Bernard smiled at him. "Of returning to your body, to be alive again."

* * *

"Laura's right, there is no way Francis has that chance." Curtis fixed his glasses and frowned.

"None of us ever had that chance!" Laura exclaimed jealously.

"Francis, is there more to you than just your soul and your body? Is there something special that would tie you to your body that we might not have had? Anything at all?" Bernard reached across the table and clenched Francis' hand in earnestness.

Francis' brow furrowed as he thought, and then an idea sprang into his mind. "I am a metahuman."

Paige clapped her hands together excitedly. "One of those people who got super powers from the gas incident last year?"

"Yeah, could that be it?" Francis looked at Bernard.

"This is pure speculation, there is no precedence for this after all, but I believe that although your body is dead and your soul separated, they share a common bond with your power. Your metahuman ability links your body and soul in a way that gives you a connection to the realm of the living. You have all the characteristics of a Spree, but not enough of a pull to this realm that limestone affects you as drastically." Bernard snapped his fingers. "I bet that's why you don't like passing through things either. It's too unnatural."

"What does this mean for him?" Paige asked.

Bernard stopped to take a breath, his eyes shining with excitement. "It means that your body is pulling for you, it wants to reconnect with your soul."

"How do I do that?" Francis asked.

Bernard shrugged. "I have no idea."

"You need some way to counteract Darryl's guns. Keep him on edge and away from your body. That will buy you time to figure something out." Paige mused aloud.

Francis thought of something. "You said that when I died, what I had on me stays with me?"

"That's right." Bernard said.

Francis reached into his pocket and laid a small hand gun on the mound.

There was stunned silence for the second time.

"I forgot I had it on me. I never go anywhere without it. I've had it since I was thirteen and first got involved with gangs. I sometimes forget I even have it with me." Francis explained.

Bernard reached out to touch the gun and ran a finger along the barrel. "This changes things."

"There's still one thing we're all forgetting." Curtis interrupted.

"What?" Paige asked.

"His body. It has to be in a fit state to return to." Curtis pointed at Francis head. "Obviously that bruise isn't enough to keep your soul here, so I hope no one is touching your body or else you may never go back."

Francis felt his heart freeze with horror.

"And if they move your body out of the hospital then Darryl can still harvest your soul, no matter what. The medallion will keep you here." Paige added.

"What's the matter?" Bernard asked, noticing that Francis' face had drained of color.

"T-they're performing an autopsy on my body on Thursday." Francis stuttered.

The group was silent as they processed this new information. "There's only one thing to do then." Paige announced.

"What?" Francis asked.

"Find some way to stop that autopsy."

* * *

Francis took a deep breath and looked up at the building in front of him. Francis' hand found its way to his pocket, pulling out his handgun. Francis checked the clip for the twelfth time that night. He only had four bullets. If he was going to use the gun to intimidate Darryl, he was going to have to be really careful. He would only get four shots.

Darkness had long since fallen over Dakota; it was the middle of the night. Francis had stayed at the ghostly head quarters for many long hours, asking questions and debating what to do next. He had very little time to act. There was only little over a day to somehow delay his autopsy.

Finally, Francis had fallen back on his original plan. Try and contact Static or Gear.

Bernard agreed with him that it would be best to get a mortal's help in this if he could. Now that Francis knew Virgil Hawkins and Static were one and the same, it made tracking the superhero down a little easier.

Francis walked up the steps leading to the Hawkins' front porch. Taking Bernard's advice, he did not go through the door and into the house. The floors were made of wood and he would get nowhere fast. Bernard had told him of a skill Sprees and other ghosts have, and Francis decided now was the time to try it out.

Placing one foot on the brick exterior, Francis applied a little pressure. The brick held firm against him. Cautiously, pushing aside all of his common sense which was urging him to get both feet back on solid ground, Francis placed his other foot on the brick.

His body was now completely parallel with the ground and gravity was not pushing him down. Francis chuckled softly. "Eat your heart out Spiderman."

Slowly at first, then with more confidence, Francis walked up the side of the building. He was careful to avoid stepping through windows.

Each room of the house was dark and no one stirred inside. Francis walked around the building a few times to get his bearings and then began peering through the windows. One showed only a hallway, the other were two bedrooms with people sleeping snugly in their beds. Virgil's father and sister Francis figured.

Francis walked around to the last window on the second floor and looked in. Sleeping in his bed was Virgil Hawkins. He looked peaceful in his slumber, but there were worry lines on his face that shouldn't be on a sixteen year old. Francis frowned. Superheroes didn't have life easy; he had never understood why so many kids aspired to be like Superman or Batman. They clearly had huge amounts of responsibility dumped on their shoulders, sometimes without asking for it. The burden had to weigh heavily on them. Francis had always assumed going the more dubious and illegal route was simpler.

Francis sighed and planned his next move. He couldn't go inside so he would have to wait for Virgil to come out. Francis looked up at the night sky. It still looked cold, although Francis couldn't really tell. There were a few puffy clouds marring the stars and bright crescent moon that suggested another light snowfall was imminent. Francis walked back to the sidewalk and settled himself against the brick wall, pulling the hood of his sweatshirt up over his face. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

Despite getting a reprieve from the cold, Francis felt numbed to the bone and shivery. A thin layer of snow had gathered overnight, Francis had moved to the porch to get under the overhang so that the flakes wouldn't fall through him. With the rising of the sun came the bustle of a Wednesday morning. It was still early; the pink sun could just be seen rising over the eastern horizon when the door to the Hawkins residence swung open.

Francis jumped to his feet hurriedly. Sharon Hawkins zipped her coat to the throat and stuffed her mittened hands into her pockets. "Virgil! You're going to be late if you don't hurry up. And don't give me anymore of that sick crap, you weren't sick yesterday and I know it. I don't know why Daddy let you stay home." She called over her shoulder and put her hood up, stepping delicately down the steps.

Moments later Virgil Hawkins hurried through the door, shutting it behind him. He too was dressed for winter and shivered the moment cold air rushed into his face. "Hey Siszilla, you meeting up with Adam later?"

Sharon shrugged. "Maybe. I've got to hurry Virgil, I've got two classes before noon and then I'm heading over to the Center."

"Okay, I'll see you at dinner then?" Virgil smiled at his sister.

Sharon returned the smile. "Look I don't know what's going on with you, but sorry for giving you flak about yesterday. You really didn't seem okay."

The smile turned into a smirk. "I humbly accept your apology oh gracious one." Virgil swept into a comically low bow.

Sharon rolled her eyes and shoved him, sending Virgil sprawling to the snow covered sidewalk. "Don't be late for school." Sharon turned on her heel and walked away.

Virgil scrambled to his feet and brushed the snow off his pants. "No sense of humor. None at all." He scoffed. Then Virgil set off in the opposite direction, heading for school.

Francis jumped the steps and hurried after the younger teen. He would have to find some way to make contact with him today, or else tomorrow he became a ghost permanently and eventually the crony of Darryl Winslow. Francis shivered at the very thought and jogged to Virgil's side.

This was going to be difficult.

* * *

**Autgor's Note:**

Can you feel the muses flowing? Can you? I can. This chapter is much more satisfactory. I hope I answered a lot of questions in this one. More will be revealed as we progress through the story. I'm fairly proud of myself.

Oh yeah, Tyler Hilton's currently in the lead. I'm putting my own vote towards Channing. I still want to hear what you guys think though so......

PLEASE REVIEW!


	5. Chapter 5: Haunting a Hero

Disclaimer: Still no luck buying Static Shock.

**Chapter Five: Haunting a Hero**

Francis stared at Virgil. Virgil stared straight ahead.

"How am I going to do this?" Francis wondered aloud with an accompanying sigh of frustration.

He had no way of making contact with the other teenager. Francis' powers were limited, providing him with few options, none of which were plausible. He had a single day to try and postpone his autopsy or else Francis would be trapped in the ghost world forever. The Middle Realm Bernard had called it. An unappetizing thought, especially with the marauding gunslinger Darryl Winslow on his ass and out for his blood.

"I don't suppose you can hear me?" Francis tried weakly. No response from Virgil. Francis waved a hand in front of the superhero's face. Virgil walked through it, and then wiped a hand over his face, like he had felt a waft of cold wind. Shrugging it away, Virgil carried on. Francis sighed again.

"Then I guess I'm stuck following you until I figure something out. Why does everything have to be so hard?" Francis pulled the hood of his sweatshirt up over his head and dug his hands deep into his jeans pockets. He fingered the butt of his pistol and exhaled loudly. Nothing was ever very easy for him.

It was colder today than it had been the past few days. There were fewer people out on the street, those who usually walked to school or work opting for the heated busses, and those who were braving the cold, like Virgil, were bundled from head to toe in warm clothing. Francis, although rarely cold due to his metahuman capabilities, was still oddly thankful that the chill went right through him.

Snow was drifting lazily from the sky, by tomorrow it will have accumulated into mounds if the plows didn't get to it in time. As the two teens passed by a residential area of the city, the laughter of children young enough to not be going to school echoed off the concrete walls surrounding a little park. There were little balls of fluorescent colored goose down frolicking in the snow while their parents watched nearby with steaming cups of coffee in hand. One plump ball was unsuccessfully trying to sled down a stoop.

Francis cracked a smile, distracted by their antics for a moment. When he turned back to Virgil, the boy had gone.

"What!" Francis frantically scoured the street. The light must have turned to walk sooner than he had thought. Virgil was almost two blocks down the street. Francis sprinted out into traffic, ducked out of the way of a taxi, and raced to catch up. "Trying to lose me Hawkins?"

Virgil didn't answer.

"Of course not. You don't even know I'm here." Francis ran a hand over his eyes tiredly. "And I'm talking to myself."

* * *

Virgil stared at the street light, the moment it turned red he darted across the street, head bent low against the wind and hands shoved deep into his pockets. The sooner he could get to school the better, it was freezing outside.

He walked briskly, almost a jog, until he reached the next light and stopped, looking down both ends of the street. No cars were coming; Virgil stepped out into the street, ignoring the blinking orange hand that governed crossing patterns.

Francis stepped off the curb after Virgil and every hair on the back of his neck stood up straight. Francis stopped in mid-stride and looked down the street, anticipating…something. His instincts had never been wrong.

A car careened around the corner recklessly, going way over the speed limit. The car skidded across two lanes and tore towards Virgil.

The younger teen looked up, startled at the skidding and gasped. The car was mere inches away.

Francis ran forward and instinctively grabbed the strap of Virgil's backpack, throwing the boy behind him. The car smashed through Francis going sixty miles an hour, and while most things that passed through him only caused a brief shiver, the car sent Francis sprawling to his knees as a ton of metal, plastic, and glass was driven through him.

Francis lay gasping for breath on the street, clutching his chest and fervently wishing for his heart rate to go down. Being a ghost was hazardous for your health.

* * *

Virgil scrambled to his feet and glared after the car, shouting furiously. The driver didn't slow down and lurched around another corner, quickly vanishing from sight. There had been no witnesses to the almost-fatal accident.

Virgil brushed snow off his jacket, still fuming. "What an idiot, I could have been killed. In fact, why aren't I killed?"

There was no explanation. One second, Virgil had been standing in the middle of the street, the next he had been thrown several feet out of danger's path. It was bizarre, almost as if someone had grabbed him, but there had been no one around.

Virgil's brow furrowed at the impossibility. In the distance a shrill bell rang, violently interrupting Virgil's mediation and the piercing through the still winter air. "Aw man, school!" Virgil re-shouldered his backpack and sprinted across the street.

Francis watched him go and didn't attempt to follow. He knew where Virgil was going after all and he still needed to catch his breath.

* * *

"I'm telling you bro, it was the weirdest thing. One second, I'm staring death in the eye and the next I'm up to my eyebrows in a snow drift." Virgil explained to Richie as they walked from homeroom to their first hour.

Richie pondered the dilemma. "I dunno V, you didn't do anything? No herculean surge of adrenaline?"

Virgil shook his head. "No, I didn't even see the car until it was right in front of me."

"Then I have no idea." Richie shrugged. "Maybe we can head over to HQ after school and examine the event in detail."

Virgil rolled his eyes. "You make my almost demise sound like a science experiment. Don't I get any worried concern?"

"Why do you need worried concern?" Frieda asked, coming up between the two. "Afraid of the big bad Biology test?"

Virgil's face went blank and then he nodded hurriedly when he remembered what she was talking about. "Biology, yeah…yeah. Pray for me."

Frieda laughed. "Sure. I'll see you guys at lunch?"

"Definitely." Richie promised. They watched Frieda saunter away to her class. When she was out of hearing range Richie smirked at Virgil. "Smooth."

* * *

After several long minutes of lying on his back in the middle of the street, concentrating on expanding his lungs, Francis slowly pushed himself up to his knees. "Do not let cars pass through you, check." Francis struggled to his feet and stretched, feeling his muscles protest and pop at the movement. "That hurt."

He crossed the street stiffly and then jogged a block to get rid of the lingering tenseness in his legs. School would have started, so Francis had to find which class Virgil would be in.

Francis strode through the front doors and looked around. He was at an intersection in the school, with three hallways branching off from the lobby. If memory served, Virgil would be a junior now. Juniors always started the day with an English class, but there were different levels of English. Francis took the left hallway, the English classrooms were always by the library and Virgil would be in AP English, Francis recalled Virgil being way too smart for his own good.

The halls were eerily quiet and Francis found himself looking over his shoulder, remembering that Darryl would probably love to sneak up on him again.

Sure enough, Virgil was sitting in AP English, looking bored and sleepy while the teacher droned on about Charles Dickens, if his name being written on the board was any indication of what they were discussing. Richie Foley was sitting behind Virgil, doodling in his notebook. Francis grinned, they were together. Perfect.

Francis walked through the door and settled on the floor, watching the class. He'd better not attempt anything with a full class present, that would be too suspicious. He could wait until they were done.

The teacher really was boring. No wonder Francis had failed so many classes, he couldn't listen to the teachers long enough to learn anything. The juniors were doing an admirable job of paying attention, lasting far longer than Francis would have, but halfway through the class they were falling asleep or passing notes, anything to pass the time. Francis felt himself nodding off but jerked upright before he actually fell asleep.

The teacher moved away from the board, leaving a long list of notes on the blackboard. Francis stared at the name Charles Dickens and at the chalk smudges around it and then had an idea.

Bernard had said Sprees could manipulate one solid thing at a time and Francis had even done so earlier, pulling Virgil's backpack. What if he could manipulate the chalk and write down a message for Virgil and Richie to see? Francis grinned as the plan formulated. He would wait until class ended, cause some reason for Virgil and Richie to stay behind, and then write an explanation. Simple but clever, just how Francis liked to operate.

Now that Francis' mind was actually on something, the class flew by quicker and soon a bell rang, signaling the end of the period. The students all collected their belonging, stowing them in backpacks and purses before filing out the door. Francis jumped to his feet and threaded through the students carefully, reaching Virgil and Richie.

There was an open bottle of water on Richie's desk; the cap was in his hand. Francis smirked and knocked the bottle casually off the edge. Virgil and Richie both jumped simultaneously as water splashed their feet.

The teacher stood up and groaned. "Oh no, don't you move Richie. I'll get paper towel and then you can clean this mess up. The last thing I need is a student slipping on a wet floor."

"Bad luck bro." Virgil sighed.

Richie stared at the bottle. "But I didn't touch that. Did you knock it over?"

"No."

Francis moved to the front of the room and picked up a piece of chalk, actually feeling something solid in his grasp, when a sudden sharp pain jumped from his hand up his arm and to the rest of his body. It was a familiar searing pain and Francis dropped the chalk hurriedly. The pain began to fade. He brushed the dust on his hands off on his pants and stared dejectedly at the chalk.

"Is chalk made of limestone?" Francis muttered to himself, rubbing his hand distractedly and then he sighed dramatically. "Foiled again."

And just like that, Francis was back to square one.

* * *

The rest of the school day passed in much the same manner. Francis would think of someway to contact the two heroes in disguise and something would go horribly awry. Not to mention that Virgil and Richie were never alone. By the time the final bell rang, Francis was feeling pretty discouraged.

"So are we going to head over to HQ now?" Richie asked as he and Virgil walked off school grounds. Francis struggled to keep up with them without running through the streams of students on the sidewalks. It wasn't much warmer outside but it had stopped snowing, leaving drifts of the white stuff piled against the sides of buildings and curbs.

"Yeah, we can…oh no wait. I completely forgot. Last night Dr. Reilly called. He wanted us to go to Dakota General today when we had the chance. Something about Hotstreak…"

Virgil had Francis' undivided attention.

Richie frowned. "What about him?"

Virgil shrugged and dropped his eyes to the ground. "I dunno. But we should go over."

Richie stared at Virgil silently for a moment. "You're not still feeling guilty are you?"

Francis stared at Virgil too. "You're guilty? Over me?"

"I can't help it." Virgil sighed. "If I hadn't thrown that beam, if we had incapacitated the Breed before they got inside the warehouse then Hotstreak might not be dead. And I feel like people are excusing it because it was an accident but I can't just excuse that I killed someone."

"I know you feel bad, but it was an accident. If you let this eat you up you're not going to be able to focus on fighting the baddies anymore. And let's face it; they'll take advantage of that weakness. You've got a duty to Dakota to put this behind you."

Francis nodded. "They would, especially Ebon. He'd probably get Replikon to look like me just to creep you out."

Virgil glanced sideways at his best friend who was grinning at him. "That's the most twisted logic I've ever heard."

Richie clapped Virgil on the shoulder. "Trust me, I'm a genius."

Virgil sighed again but didn't pull away. "It's just, I may have hated him, but I never wanted him dead."

"Likewise." Francis quipped.

"No one believes you did this on purpose. I keep saying it but for some reason it's not getting through to you, it…are you listening? It. Was. An. Accident."

Virgil nodded and let a small smile loose. "Thanks bro."

"Feel better?" Richie asked.

"Yeah, actually."

"You just needed to talk it out." Richie explained. The blond looked up. "We'd better change; we're getting close to the hospital."

The two ducked into an alley. Francis waited, keeping his eyes on the gray sky above the buildings. In seconds, Static and Gear shot out of the alley and into the air, flying towards the hospital. Francis followed quickly on foot.

* * *

"So we meet again." Francis stared at the limestone steps. Static and Gear had just gone inside, walking up the steps as casually as can be. Francis was not so lucky.

Francis backed up a few feet and assumed a sprinter's starting position. "Three, two, one…Go!" Francis launched himself at the steps, leaping up two at a time, each touch sending sharp stabbing pains up his legs. Francis fell through the sliding doors and gasped loudly.

"That doesn't get any easier." Francis groaned, rubbing his legs to get the feeling back. When he felt stable enough, Francis stood and headed for the stairs. No more falling down elevator shafts for this Spree.

Static and Gear were already down in the morgue, chatting amiably with a middle-aged man in a white lab coat, presumably Dr. Reilly.

"…as you can see, it's more practical." Reilly said, showing the heroes into the room which held Francis' body.

Francis stayed right where he was. He had no desire to see his dead self…again.

The three were only in the room for a little while. Reilly ushered them back out again minutes later, still talking. "…I'll be in my office on the third floor when you've made your decision. Just ask a nurse to help you find it." Reilly swept past Francis on his way to the elevator, leaving the heroes and their unseen watcher alone in the morgue.

Static and Gear were silent, both clearly thinking something over.

"It does make sense. It probably should have been done yesterday." Gear started.

Static nodded. "Realistically, but the date was scheduled for tomorrow because there was a backup."

"Dr. Todd wanted to examine the body too. We could have him in here today and then finish it later."

Francis' eyebrows shot for his hairline. "Are you talking about me…I mean me me?" Francis walked up to them, confused.

"I'm glad Dr. Reilly consulted with us first." Static said.

Gear nodded. "That was thoughtful."

"I don't see why not."

Another nod from Gear. "Yeah."

Static nodded too. "We'll move the date of Hotstreak's autopsy from tomorrow to tonight."

Francis staggered backwards, feeling as though he had been punched in the stomach. "Tonight?" His vision spun wildly as the repercussions danced before his eyes. Darryl harvesting his soul, becoming a Spree forever, living in the sewers with the rest of the Sprees, roaming Earth for eternity, Darryl being in control of his every action…

"_NO!_"

Static and Gear jumped, whirling to face the noise. "What…?" Gear's mouth dropped open.

"Oh my god." Static groped for the wall to hang onto, his knees suddenly seemed too weak to hold him up.

Francis stared back at them, looking just as astonished. "You heard me?"

Static nodded wordlessly.

"We can see you too." Gear added. "How is this possible?"

"I dunno, but listen. I'm not dead. You can't do the autopsy. If you do I'll be gone forever."

"Wait, what are you talking about? Of course you're dead. This is a dream, a hallucination." Gear rationalized.

Francis shook his head frantically and felt a flicker. He looked down at his hand. It was already turning translucent. Gear noticed it too. "Whoa."

"Shit." Francis swore. He looked at the two heroes desperately. "Please, you have to believe me. You have to call of the autopsy. There's a whole world you don't know about that I'm trapped in but I can return to my body if it stays the way it is." He could feel the translucence creeping up his arms and torso. His legs were completely gone.

"This is impossible." Static breathed out shakily.

"Please, don't do the autopsy. _Please!_" Francis pleaded and then he was gone.

Gear and Static exchanged glances.

"This changes things." Static muttered.

* * *

Francis groaned and punched the wall, watching Static and Gear get in the elevator. If they didn't believe him, if they still went ahead with it, then he was doomed. They hadn't seemed to believe him. Francis rested his forehead against the wall, taking deep calming breaths.

"How did I do that?" He wondered aloud. Ghosts couldn't become real again, even if it was only for a little while. Bernard had never mentioned anything about it.

"I have to find out what's happening." Francis dragged himself to the stairs, the emotional drain taking a toll on his body.

* * *

"We've decided we'd like to postpone the autopsy." Static started.

Dr. Reilly stared at him. "Postpone? That wasn't one of the options that we discussed down…"

"I know it seems weird but trust us. Something has…come up." Gear interrupted. "We need to delay the autopsy and any other procedures."

Dr. Reilly looked back and forth between the two heroes, looking for any indication that they were joking but there was none. They were both very solemn. "I suppose that the uh…power rests with you two. If that's what you feel is best." Two nods answered his statement.

Pulling a small booklet from his desk, Dr. Reilly flipped to a calendar page. "We can move the autopsy to Sunday."

"Is that as far as we can move it?" Static asked.

Dr. Reilly nodded. "Yes, even with our advanced preservation units the body would begin to decompose after that date."

Static and Gear exchanged glances and then both nodded simultaneously. "Sunday then." Static agreed.

Making the note in his calendar, Dr. Reilly hid his confusion well. "I'll see you Sunday."

"Yes, you will." Gear and Static rose from their chairs and exited the office. In the corner of the room, Francis let out a breath thankfully.

* * *

Back on the street, Static and Gear looked around them to see if anyone was listening.

"Hotstreak? Are you around?" Static asked softly.

There was an immediate cold sensation on his left arm. Static shivered and touched the spot. "That was you? Can you touch Gear's left arm too?"

Gear jumped and shivered as he felt the same sensation on his own arm. "My god, a ghost. Or at least a ghosty-like entity. You really _aren't_ dead."

Static asked another question. "You said there was a chance of returning to your body. Do you know how to do that?" There was no response. Static smiled. "Oh yeah, tap my right hand for yes, left for no." He held out his gloved hands. His left hand got chilled.

"No then." Static sighed.

"Don't worry, we'll help you." Gear promised. "But first we have to get back to HQ, I have an idea. Meet us here tomorrow after school." And then just because it was cool, Gear added, "Touch my right hand for confirmation." His right hand went frigid. "That is so awesome."

Francis rolled his eyes but smiled. Finally, hope.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Bwah, this one was hard to write. I hope Francis' desperation comes off well when he materializes. Don't worry, that will be explained. Thanks for the support everyone. I wanted to get this chapter out of the way as it is obviously the pivotal moment. Did I rush it? I hope not.

Let me know, PLEASE REVIEW!


	6. Chapter 6: Just Shoot Me

Disclaimer: I hate writing these things. I'm not creative enough to keep coming up with short, clever ways of saying I don't own Static Shock so don't sue me, m'kay?

**Chapter Six: Just Shoot Me**

"Bernard!" Francis dropped through the grating and ran for the Sprees' headquarters hidden deep in Dakota's sewer system. Francis pounded through the shallow water and into the gathering room. No one was around. Francis looked down each of the dark hallways branching off from the main room. He hadn't explored them yet and had no way of knowing which one would lead to Bernard's room.

"Bernard!" Francis shouted again.

"He's not here." Laura appeared out of the shadows o f the right tunnel, face set in a deep scowl. "He left a few hours ago. He likes to walk on the surface."

Francis frowned. It would be harder to find the older Spree now. "You don't?"

Laura shook her head and stepped back into the dark, her features hidden by the shadows. "No, it reminds me of what I'm missing."

Francis felt a pang of sympathy for Laura. She was not that long dead. He might have seen her at some point, before she died, without even knowing it. "Who shot you?"

Laura raised an eyebrow. It was impossible to see if she was upset or amused, the shadows hid her emotions. "My boyfriend."

"I know, you said that already. What's his name?"

Laura was quiet for a moment, debating whether or not to tell Francis. "Carlos, Carlos Santos."

Francis chuckled ironically, and then immediately felt guilty for doing so. "Santos? I know him, or I knew him. He's dead, you know. He was at the Bang, inhaled too much gas. His atomic structure fell apart or something like that. I heard it was messy."

Laura stepped forward and Francis saw relief in Laura's eyes. "Really, he's dead?"

Francis nodded.

A smile cracked through Laura's tough façade. "Good, the bastard." Then she laughed.

Francis frowned and left the room, Laura's laughter ringing down the tunnel after him. Laura had only been dead a few years and she had been twisted into something unnatural. Francis had never felt gratification over a death, even if it benefited him. Were Curtis and Paige as warped? Was Bernard? Not for the first time, Francis wondered what he was doing with these people and how little he really knew about them.

And as much as he didn't understand them, Francis wanted to help them.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts Francis climbed out of the sewer system and emerged back into the late afternoon sun. People were hurrying home from work and stores were hanging 'Closed' signs in their doors. Bernard would have to come back sometime; Francis would wait outside for him.

Curtis returned first. He eyes were downcast and saddened. He managed a short nod to Francis and then vanished through the grating.

Paige arrived a moment later, looking refreshed and cheerful. "Don't mind Curtis. He was just visiting his family. It always depresses him."

"His family?" Francis asked in surprise.

Paige nodded. "His wife and two kids. They're almost fully grown now. They were little when he died. He likes to hang around and watch them."

Francis felt shock course through him. The agony of watching your kids grow up without you, what if his wife had re-married? Why would Curtis put himself through such torture?

"Some people have difficulty letting go of the past." Paige said, as if she had read his thoughts.

Francis looked at her sideways. "Not you?"

Paige shook her head and smiled. It unnerved Francis. "Not me." Then she stepped through the grate and disappeared. Francis shivered, and it had nothing to do with the cold.

It was almost dark by the time Bernard arrived. The streetlights flickered on and that's when Francis saw him coming around the corner, hat held in his hands and long white hair bouncing around his tan, wrinkled face. He wasn't like Curtis, who had seemed forlorn, or Paige, who was always bubbly happy, but just serene.

"Bernard." Francis waved.

Bernard looked up and smiled. "Francis, why are you waiting for me?"

"I have something to ask you, I didn't really want the others around." Francis shrugged.

Bernard nodded. "Go ahead."

Francis took a deep breath and started. "Today I made contact with Static and Gear."

Bernard's smiled widened and he did a spontaneous jig in the streetlight. "Atta boy Francis. How'd you do it?"

"That's just it. The doctor tried to push up the autopsy date to today and Static and Gear were discussing it, then I just appeared."

Bernard frowned. "Appeared?"

Francis nodded, at a loss to describe the experience in other words. "I was a ghost, they couldn't see or hear me, and then they could. I tried to explain what was happening but I disappeared again a few seconds later."

Bernard didn't say anything for a while, his brow furrowed in thought. Francis waited, although impatiently.

"Were you very emotional?" Bernard asked suddenly.

Francis was about to answer of course not, he didn't get emotional, when he realized that he had. Maybe the most emotional he had ever been. "Yeah."

Bernard nodded and resumed thinking deeply for another few minutes. "It seems to me that, at an emotional peak, your connection to your body strengthened and you were able to forgo your ghostly half for a few moments. It is, at best, a flimsy hypothesis, but the only explanation I can think of. Nothing like that has ever happened to any of the other Sprees."

Francis grinned. "I'm just full of firsts for you guys."

Bernard returned the smile. "Indeed, was the autopsy delayed?"

"Yeah, I've got until Sunday now."

"Still not very long." Bernard mused.

Francis shrugged. "I suppose if they wait any longer, my body starts to decompose."

Bernard nodded and clapped Francis on the shoulder. "I guess you're right, c'mon. You can't rejoin your body when you're falling asleep on your feet. I'll show you your room." Bernard stepped towards the manhole, dragging Francis with him.

"Hey, uh, Bernard?" Francis stopped Bernard before he stepped through the grating.

"Hmm?"

"Is it wrong for me to be seriously creeped out by Paige and the others? They sorta freak me out." With Bernard Francis felt fairly safe, here was someone who was actively trying to help him and answer his questions, not to mention he was easy to get along with. With the others, they were still an encrypted code, one which was proving very difficult to decipher, and Francis wasn't sure he even wanted to.

Bernard looked at Francis for a long moment and finally shrugged. "I wouldn't pay them any mind." Then he stepped through the grating and disappeared.

Francis didn't feel much better after his answer, but followed after.

* * *

Francis slid out of his sweatshirt and bunched it up under his head. His room was completely bare, just a small concrete enclosure that had been used for storage when the sewers were being built. There was nothing to lie on, even if he _could_ have lain on something.

The ground was smooth at least, but cold. It was uncomfortable to say the least. Francis lay awake for a long time, listening to the sounds of the other Sprees. Paige's room was closest to his; he could hear her moving about. Sounds had a way of echoing up and down the halls eerily.

Francis let out a sigh and closed his eyes, folding his arm across his chest and rotating onto his side to try and get comfortable.

Echoing footsteps made him open his eyes again.

"Hello."

Francis sat up and looked at the doorway. Paige stood there, smiling at him. Her hair was mussed from sleep and her top was ruffled. Francis stopped himself from staring.

"Hey, what's up?"

"Couldn't sleep." Paige sauntered into the room and settled onto the ground in front of Francis, still smiling at him.

Francis raised an eyebrow curiously.

"You know what I love doing during the day?" Paige asked, fiddling with a piece of string on her skirt.

"What?"

"Watching people. I like seeing how the times have changed…or how they haven't. I've seen your hero friend, the electric one, and the shadowy bad guy; surprised I've never seen you before."

Francis shrugged and wrapped his arms around his knees. "I'm kinda hard to miss when I want to be noticed."

Paige nodded. "That's what I figured. You seem the flashy type."

Francis didn't know what to say, he wasn't used to being flustered by a pretty girl. He could handle pretty girls. Paige was different. "So, uh…do you like Dakota, now I mean? Compared to the sixties?"

Paige considered the question for a moment, twirling the string around her finger idly. "I "like" it, I suppose. I wouldn't say it's better or worse. Just different. People worry about the same things but dress differently. In another ten years things will change some more. I guess I'm lucky that I can witness everything like I can."

"As a spectator. You're not living, you have no impact. That would just piss me off. I could never just sit around and watch things happen without having a say in them." Francis said.

Paige shrugged. "I get frustrated sometimes. A few years ago I watched a guy jump off a bridge. There was no one around. If I was alive I could have stopped him, but I wasn't and he died."

"Why aren't you sad?" Francis asked suddenly.

"What?"

"Well, I mean Laura and Curtis are so depressed all the time but you're…not. Why?"

"I'm used to it I suppose." Paige leaned back on her elbows. Francis forced himself not to look at where her legs vanished into her skirt. "My death was an accident and sort of funny really. I can laugh at it. Laura and Curtis can't. Bernard's not sad either because he was old when he died and he had lived quite a life. Get him to tell you about t someday."

Francis smirked. "I don't plan on being here that much longer."

Paige smiled brightly. "That's right! I'd almost forgotten, you're going to back to your body."

Francis nodded, smirk still in place.

Paige sat forward and grabbed Francis' hand. "What are you doing?" Francis jerked his hand but Paige kept a firm grip on his wrist.

She took the string she had been playing with and tied it around Francis' ring finger, not tightly but not loose enough to slide off. "There, now when you go back to your body you won't forget us." Paige tapped his finger. "You'll see this and remember."

Francis took his hand back and stared at his finger. "…Thanks?"

Paige stood and walked to the door. "Don't mention it."

* * *

"You're sure this will work?" Virgil asked skeptically.

"Pretty sure." Richie was fiddling with a pair of goggles, screwing some bolts to the frames. The goggles were modified night vision goggles of the same model the army uses. Richie claimed that he had changed the settings to view images on the spectral level.

"How were you able to whip these up so fast?" Virgil watched his best friend at work. They only had a few minutes until they had to meet Hotstreak again in front of the hospital.

"I was using them for a science project; I had modified the viewpoint pretty extensively for biological use…"

"You made x-ray goggles." Virgil interrupted.

Richie flushed. "In so many words, yes. It was relatively easy to change the setting even further to view things that are present in the atmosphere based on the absence of certain gases."

"You're losing me."

Richie sighed. "Okay, so there are gases in the air right?"

Virgil nodded. "Yes."

"So where you are standing right now, there are no gases. There is a Virgil shaped hole were the gases would be if your body wasn't occupying that space, follow?"

"Yeah, so you're saying that there will be a Hotstreak shaped hole were these gasses aren't and then we'll be able to see him normally using these goggles?"

"Exactly." Richie held the goggles up to the light. "Finite."

Virgil stood and hurried his friend out of the Gas Station of Solitude. "Good, because we're late."

* * *

"Hiya ghosty." Richie waved.

Francis nearly jumped out of his skin and turned to face the voice. "What the, you can see me?" Then he noticed the goggles. "What the hell are those?"

"A neat little invention I just made. I can see and hear you by analyzing the sound waves and gases in the atmosphere which allow me to…"

"I don't care." Francis held up his hand to stop the genius from rambling. "Can Sparky see me?"

Richie looked behind him at Virgil who was watching Richie curiously. "No, there's only one pair of goggles so we'll have to switch."

"Are you talking to him, is it working?" Virgil asked.

"Yes." Richie turned back to Francis. "So first things first, you better explain this whole thing to me and I'll relay it on to Virg."

The three walked to the nearest park and sat down, Richie and Virgil on benches, Francis on the ground. Francis then proceeded to explain everything that had happened since his death on Sunday night. He didn't leave anything out. Francis described the angel, his encounter with Darryl, finding the other Sprees and everything they had told him. Francis showed them his handgun. Then he outlined what needed to happen next, or at least Francis thought should happen next.

"So what do you think?"

"I think…what do you think of the name GhostVision for the goggles? It's catchy and…"

"Foley."

"Sorry, habit." Richie frowned and sat back to think. Virgil plucked the goggles off of his friend's face to try them out himself.

"Sup Hawkins?" Francis nodded.

"Oh, just talking to a dead person. You know, the usual." Virgil grinned. "I was thinking, it was you who saved me yesterday wasn't it. From the car? You pulled me out of the way."

Francis shrugged. "I wasn't going to let you get hit."

Virgil's grin widened. "Thanks."

"Whatever." Francis looked at Richie. "What's he doing?"

Virgil glanced sideways and rolled his eyes. Richie was muttering to himself and drawing things out in the air with his finger. "Calculating, give it a minute. Genius is an art."

Francis snorted and lay back on the snow-barren piece of grass, folding his arms under his head contentedly.

The still-afternoon air was split by the sound of galloping hooves clattering on the sidewalk. Francis jerked upright and was on his feet in a second. Virgil stood up, able to hear the noise but not knowing where it was coming from. Francis spun in a circle, trying to figure out which direction the noise was coming from, all the while the galloping got louder and louder.

"Rich, something's happening." Virgil grabbed Richie's arm and pulled him to his feet.

Francis' eyes flickered from one corner of the park to another.

"Hotstreak, what is that?" Virgil asked.

Darryl Winslow and his horse burst out of a cove of trees, barreling towards the trio, pistol drawn and pointed at Francis.

"Trouble." Francis breathed out.

* * *

"Is that…?" Virgil started in confusion.

"Winslow." Francis growled and moved in front of Virgil and Richie who was still oblivious.

"Virg, what is it?" Richie gasped, trying to make sense of the situation.

"Darryl Winslow, the Spec. He's here and not looking very friendly." Virgil muttered, moving them behind the bench for whatever protection that would offer.

"Stone." Darryl pulled up short, glaring at the red-headed teenager malevolently.

"Winslow." Francis returned haughtily. He had noticed that a cocky attitude really got on Darryl's nerves. He was used to being treated as a superior and seemed to hate it when Francis belittled him.

"I am tired of beating around the bush with you." Darryl drawled lazily.

Francis raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. "Beating around the bush? Is that what you call shooting and interrogating me?"

Darryl's gray eyes flashed dangerously. "I need one clear answer from you or you will regret today for the rest of eternity. When is your body leaving the hospital?"

Francis tried not to let his surprise show. So Darryl knew his body was in the hospital, a lot of the Sprees thought he had been kidding and Francis had hoped Darryl might have thought he wasn't being serious either.

"You say that like I know." Francis said, adding a smirk to infuriate Darryl further.

Darryl cocked the barrel on his pistol and pointed it at Francis' head. "I know you were _in_ that hospital. How you got in I don't know. Tell me, or I promise you will regret it."

Francis kept his mouth shut. Darryl pulled the trigger.

Francis had felt this pain only once before, and it had killed him. The bullet bore through his skull like a hot poker. He felt his legs give way and a moment later he was lying face down in the grass, gasping for air, tears of pain at the corner of his eyes. Francis vaguely heard Darryl dismount and walk towards him, leaning over his body.

"Get away from him!"

* * *

Darryl looked up and noticed for the first time two mortals standing behind the felled body of Francis Stone. One was wearing a ridiculous contraption on hi s face and seemed to be looking right at him. But that was impossible.

"You heard me Winslow, get away from him. He's not going to tell you anything and hurting him isn't going to get you anywhere."

There was no hiding his surprise. Mortals could see and hear him. How was this happening?

Darryl put one boot onto Stone's back, pressing down until he heard the boy groan under him. "You recruited mortals to help you? What are you trying to do?"

* * *

Francis felt the boot on his back and heard Virgil arguing with Darryl and all he wanted to do was jump up and beat the living daylights out of Darryl, but his limbs didn't seem t o want to listen to him.

"Get off of him!" Virgil shouted again.

Francis felt Darryl's attention wander to Virgil and Richie again and slowly edged his hand to his pocket as discreetly as he could.

* * *

"You're in over your head mortal." Darryl shouted at Virgil.

"Let me see." Richie reached for the goggles but Virgil swatted his hand away. Now was not the time to argue over who got to use the goggles.

Darryl was standing on Francis, who looked like he was in a lot of pain and there was nothing Virgil could do about it. Nothing realistically. But he could buy time for Francis to do what he had to do.

Darryl smirked wickedly at them. "You can't do anything."

"They did enough." Francis grunted and rolled out from Darryl's hold, whipping his handgun out of his pocket and placing one well-aimed shot between Darryl's eyes as he moved.

Darryl gasped and fell to the ground, his horse dropping at the same moment its master did.

Francis clambered to his feet, nearly fell over, and staggered over to Virgil and Richie. "We've got to go."

Richie took the goggles from Virgil and surveyed the situation quickly. "Nice job."

The three ran out of the park and out into traffic, springing several blocks to put some distance between them and Darryl.

"What do we do?" Virgil asked in between gasps for air.

"Run very far away?" Richie suggested, doubled over with his hands on his knees.

Francis shook his head. "He finds me somehow." He rubbed his head and winced. "That hurt."

"That bruise, that's from when you died isn't it?" Virgil asked, nodding at Francis' forehead.

Francis nodded. "That stopped hurting, until now. And shit! Now I only have two bullets left." He pocketed the handgun and ran a hand through his fiery spiked hair in frustration. "This is ridiculous."

Richie heard the approaching horse first. "They're back."

They looked down the street. Only Richie and Francis could see Darryl thundering down the street after them, a murderous glint in his eye.

"Yikes." Richie muttered.

"Is he mad?" Virgil asked tentatively.

"Oh yeah." Francis nodded.

It wasn't until Darryl was few feet away that they realized he wasn't going to stop. Francis' eyes widened and he dove out of the way. Darryl blasted through Richie and Virgil, nearly knocking them off their feet but leaving them unharmed.

Francis jumped to his feet in time for Darryl to turn his horse around and come galloping back at him. This time, Francis didn't dodge far enough. He managed to avoid the horse but Darryl kicked out from the saddle and caught Francis in the shoulder, spinning the metahuman into a wall. Francis dropped to the ground.

"Uh oh." Richie groaned for Francis. "That looked like it hurt."

"What's going on?" Virgil asked.

"Hotstreak is down, got kicked." Richie ran a commentary. "I wish there was something we could do. Our powers are no good against a ghost."

Francis thought about drawing his gun again but decided against it. With only two bullets left he had to be careful how he used them.

"Winslow, hey. Listen, I just…" Francis rose to one knee.

Darryl did not want to talk anymore. He aimed his horse at Francis for a third time, looking to trample the teen.

Francis rolled out of the way and ran into the street, flinching as a car shot through him.

Darryl dismounted and ran after him. Richie and Virgil were right behind Darryl.

Francis had heard that Specs had more power than Sprees but had never been told just how much stronger Darryl actually was. It wasn't until the soldier picked up a car that Francis got worried.

"Shit." Francis gasped.

There were some startled screams in the air, people tended to notice a floating jeep. Darryl smirked and tossed it. Francis dove and felt the jeep tear through his legs, grimacing as metal, rubber, and plastic passed through him.

Pedestrians were panicking, screaming and running. They couldn't see a source for the commotion; it was as if the car had come alive. The jeep rolled into a building and burst into flames, causing more panic. Virgil and Richie were jostled, trying to remain near the fight.

Francis ducked behind a taxi as another car came crashing down. Smoke, screams, and the smell of gasoline filled the air. Then it went very eerily quiet.

"You underestimate me Stone." Darryl shouted.

Francis glanced over the hood of the car and saw Darryl holding up another vehicle. Francis ducked down as Darryl threw it. Unlike the other times, Darryl threw his arms out after the car, concentrating deeply.

The car connected with the one Francis was hiding behind, and stayed solid to Francis. Darryl had made it tangible. Francis had a split-second to realize this before the car plowed into him, slamming him backwards into a building on the opposite side of the street. Francis flew through the windows, car in flames following right after. Francis lay on the ground, stunned and in pain for several minutes. He could hear Darryl laughing outside.

Finally, Francis picked himself back up and walked to the window. He placed one foot gingerly on the ledge and looked at the street. It looked like a small bomb had dropped. Destruction and chaos was everywhere.

Francis hopped over the ledge and landed in a crouch on the sidewalk. He straightened up and grimaced, a hand going to his side. It came away smudged in dark red. Francis' eyes widened.

"That's right Stone. You're hurt. But you don't have a body to hurt so what can't be mangled…" Darryl stepped around a smoking car and into Francis' view.

Francis looked down at his side and lifted his shirt. The broken and bloody skin puckered together and the wound vanished.

"…will heal." Darryl grinned. "That's your ghostly half getting the better of your human half."

Francis looked at Darryl in shock, green eyes huge. "That's right Stone. I know what you're doing." Darryl took a step closer. "Trust me when I say, you will never return to your body. Look at you." He motioned to Francis side. "You're becoming more ghostly with each second that passes."

Francis wiped at the blood on his side and noticed that the wound had completely closed up. "If I can't be hurt, then there's no reason for me to be afraid of you." Francis reared back with his right hand and punched Darryl Winslow across the face.

The soldier stumbled backwards, hat flying from his head. When Darryl straightened, he wiped a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth. "You can't be hurt. Your little mortal pals, on the other hand."

Francis glanced back across the street. Richie and Virgil were still standing there. Virgil now had the goggles on. "Don't."

Darryl shrugged and walked to the nearest car. "Too late."

Darryl picked up the car and heaved it at the superhero duo. Richie and Virgil both had the good sense to dive out of the way. Darryl started for the next car but Francis ran at him, tackling him like a football player around the waist.

Darryl hit the pavement and struggled against Francis to get up. Francis held on, trying to keep Darryl on the ground. He looked at Richie and Virgil. "Get outta here!"

"No way, we're not leaving you!" Virgil shouted.

"_Go!_ I can't protect you, you have to go! I'll find you later!" Francis shouted, struggling to maintain a hold on Darryl.

Virgil looked like he wanted to keep arguing but grabbed Richie and ran.

Francis watched them until they were out of sight. Darryl jerked his elbow backward and hit Francis in the neck. Francis let go, stumbling backwards, choking for air.

Darryl was on his feet first, fists at the ready. Francis jumped up and assumed his favorite fighting stance. Darryl charged him and Francis lowered his shoulder, flipping the soldier over him. Francis smirked. "_This_ is how I fight. You're gonna have to try harder than that."

Darryl raised an eyebrow and stood up. He pursed his lips and whistled. His horse came trotting out of the alley were it had been waiting. "We'll meet again, and I will have your soul."

"What no more fight? You realized you can't beat me?" Francis ridiculed the Spec.

Darryl hooked one boot into the saddle and heaved himself up and over the horse. "You have no idea what I'm going to do to you when you're soul is mine." He said softly, but with an unmistakable menace.

Francis frowned. "That is never gonna happen."

Darryl smirked and turned his horse. "We shall see.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Woot! An update! Sorry this sort of took a long time. But at least the chapter's long, right? I sort of borrowed the GhostVision theory from Artemis Fowl: Opal Deception. How do you find something that you can't see? The absence of gases of course! Yeeeaaah...

It was pointed out that I was using alliteration in the titles of chapter, completely unintentional. But now I'm going to be doing fun things with the titles, this one is a TV show! I like this TV show!

Hey guess what! I also thought of an idea for a one-shot companion to Second Glance so that should be popping up soon too. Now I just have to update my Harry Potter story and I'll feel accomplished. Now that school's out for summer I should be writing more often.

PLEASE REVIEW! Seriously, I obsess over reviews so please take the time to drop me a line. ;)


	7. Chapter 7: Francis in the Middle

Disclaimer: Oh how I wish I owned Francis. That would be nice...but alas no.

**Chapter Eight: Francis in the Middle**

"Do you think he's okay?" Virgil asked for the fifth time, pacing back and forth outside his house. Richie sat on the stoop, watching his best friend's anxiety unleash itself.

"He's fine. He is _always_ fine. Besides, what's Darryl going to do, kill him? I don't think he can." Richie said soothingly, knowing Virgil was still suffering from guilt over Hotstreak's current predicament.

Virgil nodded, although he didn't look convinced. "You're right. This is stupid of me. What can you do to a ghost?"

Richie shrugged and Virgil joined him on the stoop. The two had sat side-by-side on this very same stoop many times over the years. The concrete was stained red and orange from the drippings of their popsicles on lazy summer afternoons and the black scuffs from their tennis shoes could be seen on every surface. Richie scooped up a handful of snow and packed it carefully into a perfect sphere. Virgil watched him do it, knowing the genius wouldn't dare throw his creation at him. It was just a way to pass the time.

The sun was setting and soon it would be too cold to stay outside and wait for Hotstreak. Nobody was still out in the streets and up and down the block porch and street lights flickered to incandescent life.

Rolling the snowball idly, Richie pulled the GhostVision goggles over his glasses and scanned the street before pushing them back up onto his forehead.

"Still nothing?" Virgil asked.

"Nope."

* * *

Francis walked slowly to Virgil's house, deciding that that was where the two heroes would wait for him. He was exhausted and looked raggedy. If people had been able to see him, they would have crossed the street when they got close. He looked like a blood-stained bum. The fight with Darryl had not only been taxing on him mentally but physically as well, especially after Francis had actually been wounded. He had seen his own blood for the first time as a ghost and it was jarring. Luckily, his ghostly powers healed the wound. Unluckily, these same ghostly powers were robbing Francis of his human half and his chance to come back from beyond the grave. Spiky red head bowed tiredly, Francis trudged on, biting his lip as thoughts whirled through his mind at a dizzying speed.

He had two and half days now to come up with some way to rejoin his soul and his body and Francis had no idea how he was supposed to do that.

Rounding the corner, Francis saw Virgil and Richie sitting on Virgil's front steps. He raised his hand in a wave. Neither responded. Francis rolled his eyes. "Put on the damn goggles."

As if on cue, Richie slid the goggles over his eyes, looked up and down the street, and saw Francis heading towards the superhero duo. "Hey Hotstreak!" Richie waved enthusiastically. Virgil waved blindly in the same direction.

Francis loped up to the stoop. "Hey."

Virgil took the goggles and looked up at the Spree. "So, was everything alright? What happened?"

Francis sat down and sighed, running a hand through his hair agitatedly. "After you two split, me and Wade fought some more. He used his powers so that a car remained tangible when it hit me."

Virgil felt his hand tighten into a fist. "No way."

"What?" Richie asked curiously.

"I'll explain in a sec. Go on." Virgil waved away his friend's question.

Francis leaned back against the concrete siding and continued. "I got hurt, slashed in the waist by something. Like, actually hurt. There was blood and pain."

Virgil motioned for him to continue, although getting angrier by the minute.

"I didn't know that could happen, and then my side got better. It healed." Francis lifted his shirt for Virgil to see the unblemished skin where, not even an hour ago, had been a gaping, gory hole. There was a tear in the sweatshirt and t-shirt beneath where the metal had pierced Francis as evidence. Virgil sucked in a breath.

"Darryl said that when I used ghost powers like the one that made me heal I was losing my human side. If my ghost half overtakes my human half, I'm done. Darryl wins. I think I lost a big chunk today with that fight." Francis shook his head in frustration. "This sucks."

Virgil quickly relayed the whole story to Richie, who sat back and began pondering their next dilemma.

"I'm sorry we abandoned you like that." Virgil apologized.

Francis waved it off and smirked. "Please, you two were about to get creamed. It would have been stupid to stay."

Virgil shrugged. "Yeah, but still. I hate running away from a fight."

"You didn't use to feel that way." Francis said knowingly, casting a lopsided grin at his rival.

"Things have changed a lot since last year." Virgil agreed.

Francis smirked again. "Yeah, I wasn't dead last year."

Virgil shoved Francis' shoulder jokingly. "That's too morbid."

"Sorry."

"What are you two doing? And _what_ are you wearing?"

Francis and Virgil both looked up and saw Sharon standing at the base of the steps holding shopping bags. Then, they both simultaneously realized she was talking about Virgil and Richie.

"Uh, nothing sis. Need a hand? Don't mind the goggles, science project." Virgil jumped to his feet and took some of the bags from his older sister and carried them into the house. Richie scrambled to his feet, shaken out of his reverie as Sharon shoved two bags into his arms as well.

"Go on." Sharon motioned to the open door and Richie obeyed. She followed them inside. "Dorks." Sharon muttered, but with an amused smirk, and kicked the door shut.

Francis sat on the steps for another few minutes, listening to Virgil's family and Richie unpack groceries and talk. It sounded nice.

"I really should be going." Richie called from just inside the door.

"Don't forget those dorky goggles of yours." Sharon yelled.

"Oh yeah." Richie fumbled for something to say. "I'll need them for ah…science class tomorrow."

The door opened and Richie hurried outside, zipping his coat shut against the biting winter wind. He slid the goggles onto his face and looked at Francis. "Meet after school in the art room. Nobody's ever in there."

Francis nodded and stood. He and Richie trotted off in different directions, eager to get someplace dry and warm for the night.

* * *

When Francis returned to the Sprees' sewer hideaway, everyone was asleep. Bernard's rumbling snores echoed alarmingly. Francis crept to his room, not wanting to stir anyone.

Sitting on the floor in the middle of his room was Paige. She was sitting cross-legged, eyes closed, and humming softly to herself.

Francis felt his mouth fall open in surprise. "Ummm…"

Paige opened one eye and smiled at Francis. "Welcome back. You don't mind if I use your room for mediation do you? The energy is so positive in here."

"…ummmm."

Paige looked at Francis with both bright blue eyes and grinned at him, breaking her pose to lean back idly, looking more comfortable on cold concrete than anyone Francis had ever seen before. "Very articulate."

Francis scoffed, to recover whatever bravado he had. "Just a little surprised to see you in my room at like, midnight. Meditating."

"It's very relaxing and soothing. Some days I need a little soothing." Paige stood up and walked slowly over to Francis. "Did you want to go to sleep?"

Francis shook his head. He _was_ tired, but he doubted he'd be able to sleep for a few more hours. Adrenaline was still pumping through him.

"Do you want some company?"

Paige was very close to Francis now. He avoided looking down at the ugly laceration marks around her throat, looking instead at her eyes. "Don't you ever sleep?"

Paige smiled serenely. "Not a lot. The night can be used more…productively."

Francis felt a shiver go up his back. It felt good.

Paige stood up on her tiptoes and pressed her lips against Francis'. The kiss was soft and sweet. She wasn't pressing into him, but she wasn't pulling away either. Paige was waiting for Francis to make the next move.

He did.

Francis wrapped one hand around Paige's waist, the other twisting into her hair, pulling her to him. Paige's lips broke and hey deepened the kiss. Paige put both her hands on Francis' chest and somehow it was the pyro who ended up pressed against the wall. Paige entwined one of her legs around Francis'. They were so entangled it was impossible to see who was initiating what.

Finally, gasping, they broke for air.

Francis looked down at Paige, whose normally bright eyes looked dark in thought. "Hmm. Interesting." She said suddenly, breathing hard.

"What?" Francis asked.

"Nothing." Paige pulled back. "You're a very sweet boy. I hope you get back to your body." Without another word, Paige sashayed out the door leaving Francis alone.

"Ummmm…"

* * *

Francis slept well into the morning. After the "encounter" with Paige, as Francis had taken to calling it in his mind, he had fallen asleep like a rock. For some reason, although he had enjoyed it, Francis felt like he had been used in some way. Why else would Paige leave so abruptly? Unless she hadn't enjoyed it? Francis slapped himself sharply. "Hey brain, there are more important things to worry about."

Francis sat up and stretched, every muscle in his body popped satisfyingly. Out of habit Francis shrugged on the beat-up hoodie and slipped his sneakers back on, careful to keep his mind clear of anything Paige related.

Raking his hands through his hair so that it resembled something like his usual hairstyle and not the half-floppy, half-spiky look he was sporting these days, Francis walked out of his room and into the main room. It was empty. He hadn't seen the other Sprees in a while. Francis didn't miss them.

He climbed out of the sewer and emerged into the late morning sunlight. It was about eleven o' clock. Fresh snowfall during the night was piled on street corners but it was milder out today judging by the large numbers of people getting an early lunch.

Nothing better to do, Francis walked over to Dakota Union High with a sadistic grin on his face. Just because he was dead didn't mean he had to be a saint.

Classes were in session. Francis found Virgil and Richie's classroom easily enough and walked through the door, watching the teacher for a moment. Seemed like a science class. The teacher drone in a monotone so boring, Francis' mind instantly processed it as white noise.

"Okay now kids, break up into lab groups and begin the experiment."

The students moved sluggishly into groups of four. Virgil, Richie, Frieda, and Daisy shuffled to a lab in the corner and they began mixing chemicals. Francis ducked around students and stood opposite the four to watch. They were all vey good science students and were easily the most gifted in the class. Their experiment was in the final stages when a few students were still collecting supplies.

"Yo Hawkins. Our granite bit the dust. Can I snake yours?" A hand shot out between Virgil and Richie and grabbed the piece of granite critical to the experiment.

"No, you can't. We need that." Daisy held out her hand like an impatient mother. No stone was placed in it.

"C'mon Rodriguez, don't do this." Virgil turned to face the smirking Hispanic boy. His group, more like gang, was grinning and nudging each other behind their leader, anticipating a skirmish. Benny Rodriguez was one of a few guys who led small, very ineffective gangs who were looking to take the vacant places Francis and Wade had left at Dakota Union as banger royalty. Benny found delight in hassling the intellectually gifted students who rarely fought back and wouldn't tell on him. He was messing with the wrong group of teenagers today.

"What are you gonna do about it Hawkins? Have your Daddy's cop girl arrest me?" The gang snickered behind Rodriguez. Benny tossed the granite rock from hand to hand. "I can see it now." Benny put his hands over his eyes and began fake sobbing. "He…took…my…rock!" The gang burst into uproarious laughter.

Richie looked around for the teacher, who appeared to have left the room for a few minutes. Benny wouldn't have started his stand-up routine unless the teacher was gone. Several kids in the class were watching and looking apprehensive, wondering what was going to happen.

Francis strode around the table and over to Benny Rodriguez. This was the perfect time to test out his Spree powers. In typical banger fashion, Benny's shorts sagged low and his belt was buckled loosely. Francis grinned and knelt, clutching one of Benny's pant legs in each hand and pulling down.

The effect was immediate.

The class started laughing and Benny's gang fell silent, staring at their leader who was standing in the middle of their science class in his boxers with his shorts around his ankles. Virgil, Richie, Frieda, and Daisy laughed loudest.

Benny hastily pulled his pants back up, blushing furiously.

Francis winced and clapped his hands together a few times to get feeling back into his fingers. Making something tangible left his hands numb. But he wasn't done yet. No one messed with Sparky and Brain Boy but him.

Benny took a furious step forward, looking for a way to vent his humiliation. He cocked his fist, looking dangerously at Virgil who was still laughing and Francis stuck his foot out in front of him.

Francis willed his foot to become tangible for a split second in which Benny's foot collided with it. Benny went sprawling onto Virgil's lab table, chemicals spilling everywhere. The laughter went up a notch. Benny burst away from the table and threw the granite at Virgil. "Take it. I'm outta here." The would-be-banger left the room, his "gang" rushing to follow after.

Daisy and Frieda began cleaning up the mess Benny had left behind, helping themselves to his abandoned supplies to re-start their experiment. Virgil and Richie looked at each other and then at where Francis would be if he were visible.

"Hotstreak?" Richie whispered so no one would hear.

Francis touched his arm and the genius jumped at the cold sensation.

Virgil and Richie both grinned hugely. "Nice job." Virgil whispered.

The teacher walked back into the room, not suspecting anything had happened. The students exchanged knowing looks and snickered.

For the rest of the day, Francis followed the two superheroes around the school, causing mischief whenever he saw an opportunity. In gym, Francis knocked the basketball rack over, sending basketballs flying and the gym teacher crashing to the ground. In history he smudged every other word on the whiteboard, making it impossible for the students to take notes. By the end of the day, most of the juniors were shaking their heads in wonderment over the odd day.

When the bell rang, Francis hung back as droves of students poured out onto the streets of Dakota before heading for the art room.

Virgil and Richie were waiting for him. He tapped Virgil on the shoulder to let him know he was there.

Virgil put on the goggles and looked at Francis. "What were you doing today?"

Francis shrugged. "I was bored."

Virgil grinned. "Thanks for having our backs with Rodriguez. That was funny. And when Mr. Matheson fell…priceless."

Francis took a bow. "I hope you were entertained. So what's up?"

"We were thinking about ways to return you to your body." Virgil explained, transferring the goggles to Richie who had a spiral notebook in his hand. There were indecipherable scribblings all over the pages.

Thumbing through the pages, Richie began listing options. None seemed very plausible, some were impossible, and some _might_ work. Might.

Richie flipped to one page and showed Francis a diagram. "Here's the best way I thought of. In some cases, a strong burst of electricity can keep a body alive after it's already stopped working. Now, there are two bodies in question here. The one you're in right now," Richie pointed at Francis, "and your body back in the morgue."

Francis and Virgil nodded following along to the best of their ability.

"The center point of your human body is the heart. The center point of your Spree body is your soul. Two halves of a whole which separated when you died but worked in sync when you were living. The question is how to reconnect these components."

Richie looked at both his listeners, enjoying himself immensely. "I propose we employ the same shock treatment that doctors use for people who have been dead for a only a few seconds but on much larger scale. We get you and your body and combine them, and then we have our shock." Richie pointed at Virgil. "With any luck the electricity will flow into both your soul and heart and get both moving at the exact same moment, even for a brief moment, and hope that merges them back together."

"I like it." Virgil grinned. "I get to shock Hotstreak."

"Like you've never shocked anyone before." Richie agreed. The blond genius looked at Francis. "What do you think?"

Francis ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "I guess. I don't know about resting my future on a 'hope.' But it's the best we got." He looked at the heroes. "We might as well."

Richie smiled. "Great. I'll schedule it for tomorrow morning. We should have the morgue to ourselves so no one will wonder what we're doing."

"Meet us in the morgue at ten." Virgil said to thin air.

Francis nodded. "Sure. Thanks guys."

Richie smiled. "No problem."

Virgil's pocket rang and he pulled out a beeper. "I gotta go. That new playground equipment arrived at the center. Pops needs my help unloading and setting up."

"I'll help." Richie stood up and then leaned over to whisper in Francis' ear. "His dad always buys us ice cream when we do heavy lifting." Virgil took the goggles from Richie.

Francis snickered. "I'll head back to the hideaway. No sense in risking getting caught by Darryl again."

Virgil nodded. "Right. No risks. Stay out of sight and out of trouble until tomorrow."

"The 'out of sight' part shouldn't be too hard." Francis quipped.

"You know what I mean." Virgil waved away Francis' joke and he and Richie walked to the door. "Later."

Francis watched them leave and then stood up too, stretching his back before heading back to the sewers.

* * *

Francis was a few blocks away from the entrance to the Sprees' underground home when he heard a struggle in an alley just ahead of him. People were walking by the alley and not responding to the noises. A girl screamed, a guy grunted. Nobody reacted.

Francis frowned. If no one was hearing the noises, maybe they were ghosts?

Cautiously approaching the entrance to the alley, Francis dipped his hand into his pocket, feeling the pistol…just in case. He looked around the corner and clapped a hand over his mouth to stop a gasp from escaping.

Darryl and Paige. Together. Francis felt panicky thoughts rip through his mind before he actually assessed the image.

Darryl had Paige up against a brick wall, one leg in between hers. His horse was no where to be found. His lips were against her neck and they were both breathing heavily.

Paige groaned as Darryl pressed harder against her. "Darryl…I don't…not today please."

"Shut up. You've never argued before. Just do what I say. I'm in charge, remember?" Darryl hissed, his mouth moving up her neck to her jaw line.

"I just don't…another time I promise." Paige's voice faltered as Darryl's hands roamed south.

Francis remembered the feel of Paige's lips on his own and he grimaced, and then realized this wasn't her fault. She wasn't playing him. She _had_ to do what Darryl said. A sick nausea rose in Francis at the thought that the Sprees were virtually helpless before Darryl.

Before another thought could convince him not to, Francis had drawn his pistol and stepped into the alley. Paige's withdrawn eyes met his own and they widened in surprise. Sensing a disturbance Darryl turned.

Francis pulled the trigger.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Bum...bum...buuuum! Cliffhanger! Do you love it? I do. This is about as raunchy as I can ever write so...enjoy? Once again, chapter title inspired by another of my favorite shows. Coincidentally, my favorite character in that show is also named Francis. Go figure.

PLEASE REVIEW!


	8. Chapter 8: Boy Meets Ambush

Disclaimer: I haven't had my coffee yet so I'm having a hard time coming up with a clever way of saying I don't own Static Shock. Actually that wasn't so bad.

**Chapter Eight: Boy Meets Ambush**

Francis pulled the trigger.

Darryl's head jerked and his body crumpled to the ground. Francis stepped forward, Darryl's body and held out his hand for Paige to take. She just stared at him in shock.

"C'mon. That's not gonna keep him out for long." Francis moved his hand closer.

Paige took it and the two stepped over Darryl and ran for the street. Francis pulled Paige along, dodging through pedestrians and down every back street he could find. They had to put distance between themselves and Darryl and be unpredictable. The longer it took him to find them, the better.

"Why did you do that?" Paige gasped as Francis pulled her. He had her hand locked in a vice-like grip as he ran.

Francis looked back at her. "Why not? That creep doesn't get to do that."

"He always has." Paige argued.

"Not while I'm around. I'll kill that bastard." Francis growled.

Paige pulled on Francis' hand. "Stop, I need to stop. I can't breathe."

Francis slowed to a jog, looking nervously behind them and dragged Paige into a store and out of sight. "Okay, but only for a second. He'll catch us."

"You used a bullet." Paige pointed out, nodding at the pistol still clenched in Francis' hand. He looked down at it, as if he had forgotten he was holding it.

"S'fine. I still have one more."

"One! I thought you had three?" Paige's eyes went wide.

Francis shrugged and pocketed the gun. "I used one yesterday against Darryl."

Paige nodded. "That would explain why he's so pissed. And you probably just made him even angrier. This isn't going to help anyone; I should just go back and try to explain to him that…"

"No." Francis grabbed Paige's arm. "You don't have to explain anything. You don't have to do what he wants you to do."

"You don't understand. I do have to do what he says. When he harvests our souls we become his. If we don't, he has the power to make us go away."

Francis' eyes narrowed. "Go away? What does that mean?"

Paige looked away, around the store, at the people. Anything to avoid meeting Francis' gaze.

"He can destroy our essences. It's all we have. We won't exist in any realm; we'll just be gone forever." Paige's voice caught but she plowed on. "It happened, a few decades ago. There was a real loud and rowdy Spree, his name was James. Young, lots of fun, very nice. Reminds me a lot of you actually."

"He decided he didn't want to listen to Darryl…tried to fight him. Before we knew what was happening, before we could help, he was gone. He just melted into thin air and the breeze blew him away like dust." Paige brushed her hands across her eyes and sniffled, hiding her face. "When I kissed you last night, I was curious. I wanted to know what a kiss felt like without the malice and lust. I had forgotten. Then you were so sweet and innocent and it felt wrong to even compare you to Darryl. Please forgive me."

Francis looked at Paige and then at the ground, processing what she had said. He had been called many things before; innocent was not one of them. It was odd. "I don't…I want to help. I don't know how."

Paige shook her head. "It's never happened but, to defeat a Spec a Spree must destroy the Spec's soul. I don't know how you do that and it would be foolish to try. Please don't try."

"I can't do nothing." Francis argued.

Paige looked directly at Francis for the first time in many minutes. "You can return to your body. That's victory enough for me, for the others. That's all I want you to do. Don't worry about us."

"I'm returning to my body tomorrow." Francis said suddenly. "Or I'm going to try to at least."

Paige looked shocked. "How?"

"It's hard to explain, but Static, the mortal helping me, is going to shock me. Tomorrow morning at the hospital. If it works, I'll do what I can to get rid of Darryl." Francis promised.

Paige shook her head. "If you do become mortal again, you won't be able to do anything. Forget about us. That's what I want you to do."

Francis frowned and opened his mouth to argue but was cut off by the sound of galloping hooves fast approaching from outside. They could be heard faintly in the distance growing closer. Francis cocked his head to listen. "He's still a few blocks away."

Paige took Francis by the arm and led him outside. "Run. I will stay here...I will be fine. You need to stay out of the way. Run until you are somewhere safe."

"Is there anywhere safe?"

"Just get far away." Paige shoved Francis into the street. "Go."

Francis didn't want to run. He was sick of running and hiding like a coward. He had never run from anything before in his life but logic kicked in and got his legs moving. He couldn't win a fight against Darryl. If he returned to his body tomorrow, then that would be the end of this whole mess. He had to run.

Francis sprinted across the street and away from the store and he didn't look back.

Turning for the entrance to the sewers, Francis stopped. Darryl undoubtedly knew where the Sprees lived. It would be foolish to go there when he cowboy was on the warpath. Francis turned on his heel and made for the docks. There were plenty of warehouses to hide in there.

* * *

Nothing had changed at the docks since that fateful night. "God, that was only five days ago." Francis shook his head in wonder. "Seems like ages."

In the dying afternoon light, the warehouses didn't look so bleak and foreboding as they had that cold wintery night. Francis walked down the wharf in the opposite direction of where the Meta-Breed had unsuccessfully fought Static and Gear.

As Francis walked, it began to snow. Slowly, the sun sank out of sight beyond the harbor and Francis hurried into a warehouse, sliding through the barricaded door.

No windows were broken and the inside of the warehouse was relatively clean and dry. Francis walked to the back and settled against the wall, wrapping his arms around his knees and staring at the door. Would Darryl find him tonight?

After an hour of surveillance, Francis felt his eyes getting heavy. He slid off his hoodie and bunched it up, laying his head down and drifting into a deep and well-earned sleep.

* * *

Francis slept like a dead man…which he was…not awakening until the bright streams of sunlight filtered through windows high above his head and shone directly into his face. Slowly, Francis drifted out of slumber and into consciousness, blinking rapidly and sweeping a hand through his hair sleepily.

He was stiff and tired, but still safe and that's what counted.

Groaning, Francis rose to his feet feeling more disheveled than he has ever felt, even when he stayed with the Meta-Breed in their makeshift hideaways. He can't see his own reflection, but he imagines he looks rather homeless and vagabondy. "What time is it?" Francis mutters, sliding into his hoodie and stepping out the door onto the docks.

Francis looks up and the sun isn't high in the sky so decides it can't be too late in the morning. Francis sets off for downtown; the clock tower will tell him what time it is.

The streets are practically deserted so people have most likely already left for work. Teenagers are sleeping late and little kids are parked in front of the television watching early morning cartoons. The only people out and about are construction workers, fixing a sewer main. Francis cranes his neck to get a good look at the clock atop city hall. 9:47.

"I almost overslept." Francis said to himself and shook his head in amusement. What if he had missed the appointment altogether? That would have been disastrous.

Turning towards the hospital, Francis walks off. It was five minutes to ten when Francis approached the hated limestone steps. He bent low, ready to burst up the steps in a few quick movements when he heard a gun cock menacingly behind him. Francis turned his head, still in his runner's crouch.

Darryl smirked at him. "Stone."

Francis managed a smile although his insides had gone cold with dread. "Darryl. Hi."

"Fancy meeting you here Spree."

"Fancy that."

"Get up. Turn around." Darryl gesticulated with the gun impatiently.

Francis did as he was told. "How did you...?"

"Know you were going to be here this morning to try and get back to your body?" Darryl's smirk grew more malicious. "I had a little help."

Francis felt himself being surrounded and he looked to his left. Laura and Curtis were blocking the street. To his right, Bernard.

"I'm sorry." A faint whisper behind him. Paige. "I had to. I'm sorry."

Francis took a deep breath and tried not to panic. He was surrounded. He had one bullet. Darryl had his own pistol aimed at his temple and the other Sprees were now his enemies. Awesome.

"What's going on?" Francis asked after a moment of complete silence. The street around them was empty and quiet. Virgil and Richie would be inside, waiting for him.

"You're coming with me. I am going to keep you lock up and away from your body for the next 48 hours and then…I am going to rip your soul from your body and destroy you. You're far too much work to keep around. I like my Sprees obedient." Darryl whistled and his horse trotted out of a nearby alley. Daryl hooked one boot into the stirrup and hoisted himself into the saddle, holstering the pistol.

The cowboy solider looked at the Sprees and motioned with his gloved hand. They all took a few steps forward as one, making the circle around Francis even smaller. "Take him." Darryl turned his horse and trotted away, trusting the Sprees to do his dirty work for him.

Paige wrapped her arms around Francis' neck and Curtis dove low, knocking Francis' legs out from underneath him. Bernard and Laura watched the scuffle, ready to intervene in case Francis got up.

Francis wheezed, his face going red from lack of oxygen. Paige was squeezing his neck tightly, black spots danced at the edge of his vision. Curtis flipped Francis onto his back and straddled him, pulling a cement block from behind his back. Curtis raised the block up with the intent of brining it down onto Francis' head and knock him out.

Francis struggled wildly, his hands trying to break Paige's grip on his throat. He kicked out blindly, catching Curtis' arm. The Spree hissed in pain and the block fell. It bought Francis a few more precious seconds. Curtis reached to retrieve the block and Francis grasped Paige's forearms, hauling her over him. She flew into Curtis, knocking them both off of Francis. The pyro was on his feet in an instant, throat sore but conscious, still able to fight.

Laura and Bernard approached him looking determined.

"Please you guys. I need to get in there." Francis winced at the sound of his own voice, hoarse almost beyond recognition. He was rasping for breath painfully. Francis was now facing the hospital, all four Sprees standing between him and safety.

Bernard shook his head forlornly. "Forgive us." The old man charged Francis.

Dipping his shoulder, Francis was able to knock Bernard back and he dodged a grab from Laura before sprinting down the street. He heard the Sprees thundering after him. There was no way he could lose them. They knew the city better than he did and there were far more of them, not to mention they could use their powers freely while Francis had to conserve his.

Francis barreled through traffic and into the next block, each step bring him farther from the hospital. It was now after ten. Virgil and Richie must know something is wrong, they would come look for him. Francis shrugged his hoodie off and leaves it behind as he runs.

Francis looked back over his shoulder. Paige and Curtis were at the front of the pack, the cement block raised high. Francis turned his head back and yelped, grinding to a halt as fast as he could.

In front of him, blocking the way, Darryl and his horse grin down at him. "So predictable." He raised his pistol and fired.

The bullet smashed into Francis' forehead and made the teenager collapse backwards. His vision went fuzzy as pain clouded his every sense. All Francis could do was lie weakly on the pavement, waiting for the pain to die down. Vaguely, Francis felt a body sit atop him and angle his head towards them. When his eyes focused again, Francis saw the cement block raised above him. Francis' eyes widen and he gasps. The block comes down. And then again. Francis whimpers in pain, he tried to raise his arms and deflect the blows but someone is pinning his limbs down.

His head took more punishment, too much. Finally, mercifully, Francis allowed the blanket of darkness to envelope him, to drive the pain away for the moment, and he stops struggling.

* * *

Darryl stared stonily at the crumpled body of Francis Stone. It was a pity really. Such a fighter…very brave too. Too bad he was annoyingly stubborn and independent. Far too big a hassle to deal with. Darryl sniffed as another thought occurred to him, the first time he had allowed himself to think it. A threat too.

The other Sprees were fairly weak individuals, easy to control. No competition for taking his place. Stone was different. The body mishap, the goddamn hospital protected his body and so Darryl could not take control of it from the get-go like he had with the others. No one had outright defied his power like Stone had. It was both thrilling and irritating.

No matter. In two days' time the boy would be his and he would terminate the troublesome blight from his life once and for all. No one would question him again after that.

"You know where to take him." Darryl barked at the gathered Sprees. They were standing despondently around Stone's body, not looking at each other or at the boy lying bloodied at their feet. The gash created by Curtis' brick had healed, leaving only the blood as evidence to what had happened. Blood stained the street around Stone's head as well, although passerby would not be able to see it.

"Yes sir." Bernard spoke and motioned for Curtis to take Stone's legs. Together, they picked Stone up and began marching off in the opposite direction. Laura and Paige turned to follow.

Darryl grabbed Paige's arm. "Usual place, tonight at seven."

Paige nodded but did not speak before following after the others.

Darryl grinned. Things were working out nicely.

* * *

"Where is he?" Static mumbled.

Francis was officially half an hour late. Dr. Reilly would eventually come in and check on them, they were running out of time.

"I don't know." Gear looked at his wristwatch. "I'm kinda worried. I don't think Hotstreak would be late…especially for this."

Static nodded in agreement. "Do you think something happened?"

Gear shrugged. "Let's go upstairs and wait for him. If he's not here in thirty minutes, something is definitely up."

Static and Gear trudged from the morgue back up to the lobby. No sign of Francis anywhere. "What happens if something did happen and he's not coming?" Static asked.

Gear's jaw clenched at the thought. "We try and find and do the procedure before tomorrow's autopsy. If we don't, he's finished."

Static focused all of his energy on the doorway, willing Francis to pop through the double doors at any second, grin and say he was making a fashionably late entrance, then they would all go back to the morgue and reunite Francis with his body.

It didn't happen.

Thirty minutes later Static and Gear walked out of the hospital and began combing the area for clues. It was all they could do.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Oh man...I hate doing that to Francis. Wait, I'm lying. I love it. Where is Darryl taking Francis? Only I know. Thanks for all the reviews guys. This is the last of the TV themed chapters. Speaking of TV, I am in sore need of summer television to watch. _Good_ television that is. Not _Wipeout_ or _America's Got Talent_. That is bad television. At least my non-paying job is keeping me busy every day. Now if only I were getting paid. Never mind that...five days until the most awesome movie of the summer. You all know what I'm talking about. I'm geeking out all over the place.

Sorry this chapter is short. I got to the point awfully quickly...sorry.

As always...PLEASE REVIEW!


	9. Chapter 9: For Whom the Bell Tolls

Disclaimer: No

**Chapter Nine: For Whom the Bell Tolls**

"What do you think happened?" Virgil asked. He and Richie had changed out of their uniforms in order to investigate the streets around the hospital without arousing attention as Static and Gear.

"I dunno. Something must have. Hotstreak would not just miss the appointment like that." Richie was wearing the GhostVision goggles and was scouring the ground. People occasionally cast the two odd looks but nobody interrupted them.

Virgil was worried. Had Darryl caught Francis? Were they fighting somewhere? What if Francis had used his powers again and the connection with his body had simply failed, leaving the pyro stranded in the ghost world?

Richie paused and stared ahead of them at the sidewalk. "Whoa. That can't be what I think it is?"

"What?" Virgil saw nothing.

Richie walked over to a spot in the sidewalk and knelt down, his hand indicating he was touching something, something Virgil couldn't see.

"Check it out." Richie handed Virgil the goggles and moved a step back.

Virgil pulled the goggles on and looked down. At his feet was Francis' crumpled and blood-stained sweatshirt lying discarded on the street. Virgil frowned in thought. Francis had been near the hospital then.

"Let's keep looking." Virgil straightened and led the search away.

"So his sweatshirt means he was here. Something happened, he either ran towards or away from the hospital, losing his sweatshirt in the process." Richie mused. "My guess would be for away from. If he had run towards the hospital he would have gone inside. He is the only ghost who can go up those stairs; it would have been a safe haven."

"So somehow Darryl intercepted him before he got to the hospital and chased him away?" Virgil guessed aloud.

Richie shrugged. "We're just making assumptions. It's impossible to actually make a deduction with as little evidence as we have. For all we know Hotstreak lost that sweatshirt last night and we're following a cold trail."

The two rounded a corner and Virgil froze, fixing his gaze on the pavement. "I don't think it's a cold trail bro."

"What do you see?" Richie asked.

Virgil approached a spot and crouched down. "Can you get me one of my gloves out of your backpack?"

Richie rummaged around in his pack and pulled out on of the gloves Virgil wore as Static. He handed it over. Virgil pulled the glove on and touched the street. There was nothing there as far as Richie could see. Virgil pulled back his hand and touched his forefinger and thumb together experimentally. "I think there's a problem." Virgil handed Richie the goggles.

With the help of GhostVision, Richie was able to see a large red stain on the street that was invisible to the mortal eye. "That's not…is that blood?"

Virgil pulled the glove off and handed it to Richie. "Still sticky. Whoever's blood that is; it wasn't spilled too long ago. Run that sample through Backpack. We have Hotstreak's DNA on file right?"

Richie nodded and took the glove, moving quickly into a side alley and out of the view of the public. Richie's thoughts connected with Backpack's and the mobile robot crawled out of the blond genius' backpack. Richie flipped the top of Backpack's processor and placed the glove, palm down, onto the built-in scanner. "It's a good thing I incorporated the GhostVision technology into Backpack's hard drive last night. He'll be able to analyze the blood."

It took only a few second before a small green light flashed and Richie popped the top again, reading the information off the screen. As he read word after word, his face fell into a hard frown. "Oh no."

"It's his?" Virgil asked.

Richie nodded grimly. "Hotstreak is hurt…or was if his healing kicked in. And if he healed then he used more of his ghost powers, weakening his connection to his human body. And that much blood means there was a fight, and I don't think Hotstreak won."

Virgil sighed deeply. "Nothing ever goes smoothly. Now what do we do?"

Backpack crawled back into the canvas backpack and Richie zipped it up, swinging the bag onto his shoulder and standing up. "We keep looking I guess. If we don't find Hotstreak by tomorrow, all of this was for nothing. We won't be able to help him anymore."

Virgil looked up at the tall buildings and skyscrapers that nearly blotted out the sun and thought off all the people in Dakota, all the nooks and crannies, and all the places a Spree could be held captive. "It's like looking for a needle in a haystack."

Richie put a hand on Virgil's shoulder and the two walked out of the alley. "Then we'd better get looking."

* * *

Groan. Pain. Dizzy. Dark. Sticky. Alone. Throb. Damp. Blink. Cold. Ache. Worry. Blur.

Francis struggled to focus on his surroundings. His head hurt like it had after he had been killed and each movement brought a fresh spasm of agony.

Francis had awoken face-down on a cold concrete floor. Wherever Darryl had brought him was completely dark, there wasn't a single pinpoint of light to be seen. Francis blinked a few times, hoping to begin seeing shadows and shades in the blackness to no avail. It was as good as being blind. There was an insistent dripping sound; something was trickling down the walls and into stagnant pools of foul-smelling liquid. Francis stayed in this position for a long time, not trusting the pain in his head to allow him to get up.

Slowly, Francis brought his arms underneath his body and lifted himself onto his elbows. Surprisingly, the pain did not knock him flat against the ground. He must be healing quickly. Francis frowned at the thought, that wasn't necessarily a good thing. The next step was pushing himself into a sitting position, which the red-haired pyro did gingerly until he was sitting cross-legged.

With this task accomplished, Francis considered his situation. "Where the hell am I?"

He might be underground, that would explain the absolute darkness.

Francis made the effort to stand, one hand pressed against his temple. It came away sticky. Francis felt around the blood on his face and probed for the wound, there was none. The frown deepened. It must have taken a lot of energy to heal that gash. Francis blinked and felt the drying blood stretch around his eyes stretch uncomfortably, like a layer of latex. First chance he got, Francis was going to take a good long shower.

"I don't know if that's even possible for ghosts." Francis muttered. "Shit man, don't think like that. You've still got time to fix this, probably."

Francis felt a lump in his pocket and reached inside, discovering his pistol was still there. "Why did he let me keep that?" Francis asked himself and shrugged. It certainly didn't hurt to have it.

Curiously, the teenaged metahuman moved forward, arms outstretched to feel in front of him. A few steps later and Francis' fingers touched a rough concrete wall. Felling his way like a blind man, he maneuvered his way around the small dank room. On the fourth and final wall, Francis' fingers found a groove. There was a slab of concrete covering something. Francis pressed his hand into the thin gap between the concrete and what lay behind it and his hand went numb.

Withdrawing his hand, Francis growled angrily. Darryl had thought to cover up the metal door to the room, there was no way around the slab, it had been melded to the wall. He was trapped.

Francis spun, clenching his fist when his foot caught something on the ground. It clattered into the darkness. Francis' mouth fell open in surprise and he raised an eyebrow. "What the…?"

Darryl had the ability to make something tangible to other ghosts. Maybe he had left something behind?

Francis got down on his hands and knees and scoured the floor, shivering when his hands swept through the rancid liquid, luckily he passed through it. Finally, Francis' hand closed around the object. There was a plastic strip, then a round metal shape, then another strip. "A watch?" Francis mused aloud. His felt around the edged of the watch for a light button.

The little screen lit up in bright blue translucency. Francis' narrowed his eyes at the sudden brightness and blinked rapidly. When his eyes adjusted, Francis looked at the screen and felt his heart drop. Darryl really was a malicious, sadistic asshole.

The watch had the ability of telling the time and date. It was 4:00 in the morning…Sunday morning. They were going to perform the autopsy in eight hours and Francis was trapped in an underground concrete dungeon. Francis noticed the alarm was set for noon and he clenched every muscle in fury. Darryl wanted him to know exactly when his body would be desecrated.

Francis let his head fall back and he screamed in frustration, anger, and desperation.

* * *

Virgil sat on his bed, staring at the clock. Eight in the morning. He was exhausted and dispirited. He and Richie had spent the entire day yesterday combing the buys metropolitan streets of Dakota for Francis, to no avail. Now, Francis' autopsy would be performed in four hours. Virgil sighed, rubbed his face tiredly, and got up.

The shock vox on his bedside table cackled with static. Virgil reached for it with one hand and with the other dug around in his dresser for a clean shirt. "You there Rich?"

"Yeah V. I don't know…should we go back out and look some more or go to the hospital? Maybe we could postpone the autopsy even more."

Virgil shook his head. "Dr. Reilly won't postpone it again. He didn't even want to push it back this far. He'll do it today, with or without our permission. Hotstreak's body belongs to the state, there's nothing we can do about that anymore."

"So we go look?"

"I guess." Virgil shrugged. "We could look for three hours, then go to the hospital and wait and see if he shows up, he could get away on his own."

"Maybe, but I suspect Darryl will be waiting outside that hospital just in case that does happen." Richie sounded worried and tired.

Virgil pulled the shirt on over his head and buttoned it up, shaking out his dreads in the mirror and heading for the door. "He can't do anything to us. I'll meet you at HQ."

"Okay V, see you in ten."

Virgil grabbed his backpack with Static uniform inside from the closet and left his bedroom, walking downstairs.

"Hey baby brother." Sharon greeted him. She was sitting on the couch, lacing up her sneakers. Sharon and Adam were going jogging.

Virgil smiled. "Hi Sharon. Any breakfast?"

Sharon raised an eyebrow. "Cold cereal. I am not your personal cook."

"Okay okay. I was just asking." Virgil backed into the kitchen and into his father.

Robert Hawkins dabbed at the coffee stain on his tie. "What's the rush Virgil?"

Virgil grimaced and got a wet paper towel for his father. "Sorry Pops. No hurry. Just getting some cereal." Virgil threw the towel away and retrieved a bowl, milk, and cornflakes, collapsing down at the table and inhaling his breakfast quickly.

Robert chuckled. "Chew son."

Virgil smiled and put his dirty dishes in the sink. "Later Pops."

"Just a minute." Robert stopped his son.

Virgil turned his head. "Yeah?"

"I was going to take you and Sharon out to dinner tonight. Maybe Trina would come along. Are you going to be around later? These days you're always running off for hours on end." Robert looked appraisingly at Virgil.

"Maybe, depends on a few things I have to do with Richie. I'll call you." Virgil forced a smile and opened the front door. "Bye."

* * *

Francis sat with his back against the door, watching the minutes tick by on the digital watch. Two hours and counting until the pathologist' knife would slice into him.

"I wonder if it will hurt?" Francis thought aloud idly. He tossed the watch from hand to hand in boredom and then sighed. "Damn, I need to get out of here."

Francis got to his feet and began feeling around the base of the cement slab. The watch continued to tick.

* * *

"Any luck?" Static asked, swooping in on his disc over a building and hovering in mid-air before Gear.

The super-genius shook his head. "No." Gear was sitting on the ledge of a skyscraper, Backpack running a dozen analytic tests at his side. "I have no idea where he could be, and we're down to an hour. Should we go to the hospital?"

Static looked down at the street below, as if Francis would appear beneath his feet. When the pyro didn't magically materialize, Static nodded. "Yeah. You got the GhostVision?"

Gear pulled the goggles from off his belt. "Yup." Then he stood, presented his back for Backpack to leap and latch onto and then dove off the ledge. His rocket skates spurted to life and Gear flew forward, Static right at his side.

"Let me see the goggles." Static held out his hand. Gear slapped them into his gloved palm.

Static pulled the goggled on over his mask and scanned the streets as they flew.

"There's the hospital." Gear announced.

As they neared, Static frowned stonily. "And there's Darryl." The cowboy solider was sitting atop his trusty steed a few feet from the limestone steps. As if sensing their presence, Darryl looked up and waved cheerily, he looked very pleased with himself.

Static and Gear touched down at the top of the steps, glowering down at the Spec with as much hate as they could muster.

"Hello boys." Darryl greeted them pleasantly. "Lovely day."

"Where is he?" Static asked.

"I'm sorry, who?" Darryl continued smiling nastily.

"You're absolutely evil. Why are you doing this? If Hotstreak returns to his body he's not a problem for you anymore. You both win." Static argued.

Darryl shook his head, as of he were lecturing a petulant child. "Wrong boy. He wins. I lose respect. Any Spree who crosses my path becomes mine. It's a matter of principal and honor. Simple as that."

"Let me." Gear grabbed for the goggles. "Is there anything we can do to make you change your mind?"

"Afraid not." Darryl tipped his hat. "See you after the slice and dice."

Gear took the goggles off. "I don't think we can pull this one off bro."

Static looked out to where Darryl was, and then beyond that into the heart of Dakota. "It's up to Hotstreak now. He's the only one who can free himself."

* * *

"Damn it!" Francis pounded at the door, rubbing his hands raw. "This is impossible!"

He glanced down at the tiny, lit up screen at his feet. 30 minutes. "No." Francis growled. "There's got to be a way. There's always a way."

He pounded once more. "C'mon!"

Francis leaned into the door with all his weight. "C'mon you stupid door. Move."

No go.

Francis gasped for breath and wiped a bead of sweat off his forehead. 20 minutes.

The red-haired metahuman swore and kicked the door. "Can anybody hear me!" Francis shouted. "Anybody! Somebody." He laid his head against the door and groaned. "Help."

Francis felt it before he heard it. Something pounded on the other side of the door. The vibrations reverberated through the cement. Francis jerked his head upright. "Hello?" He called loudly.

There was a squeaky rusty sound and the door fell open. Francis nearly fell as the door swung away from him. Francis gasped and shielded his eyes in the sudden light. When his vision cleared, he saw four mean standing in front of him.

"What the hell were you doing kid? If we hadn't come along, you could have died in there. Would have been weeks before anyone found you."

Francis nearly laughed when he realized who his saviors were, construction workers, the men who had been working on the sewer main the previous day. That's where he was, in a storage room in the sewers beneath Dakota's streets. A place made entirely of concrete.

"Yeah…thanks. Thanks a lot. You heard me?" Francis stepped out of the room.

The lead worker, the one who had been talking, adjusted his hard hat. "Sure, you were screaming. Sounded pretty desperate."

"Thanks a lot; you have no idea how awesome this is." Francis thanks them again and then ran past the four men, looking for an exit.

"Hey kid!" Another worker shouted after him. "You look familiar!"

Francis smirked and waved over his shoulder.

"Didn't he look familiar?" The worker asked his buddies. They nodded.

"I thought I saw his face on the news." Another one said.

The first guy nodded. "You know what; he looks just like that fire metahuman, Hotshot or something. You know the one that died last week."

The guys nodded. "That's right."

They turned to head back to their station when they saw Francis' body, almost out of view, flicker under the fluorescent work light and fade away.

The workers stopped and stared, then looked at each other. "No way."

* * *

Francis broke into the sunlight and a wild grin spread across his face. "Yes!" He pulled himself out of the open manhole and sprinted for the hospital, hoping he cold make it across town in under 20 minutes.

He decided this close to endgame; he could afford to go a little crazy with his powers. Francis ran through traffic, didn't stop or dodge pedestrians, he just barreled through everything. He made great time. It had taken him ten minutes, running through the outdoor market near Main Street helped a lot, before Francis was only a few blocks from the hospital. He rounded the last corner and shot towards the steps.

That's when he noticed Darryl lying in wait.

Francis skidded to a stop, panting and sweating. He put his hands on his knees and groaned. "You've got to be kidding me."

"How the hell…?" Darryl slid off his horse and then smirked. "You know what? I'm not even surprised. I would have been disappointed if you hadn't made this interesting."

Francis growled through clenched teeth. The clock tower looming over the hospital ticked ever closer to noon. "Come and get me."

Darryl charged the teenager. He caught Francis around the waist like a linebacker and they went tumbling. Francis grasped Darryl's wrists, stopping him from punching him and they wrestled on the pavement for a few moments. Francis bent his legs and put them up against Darryl's chest, pushing him up and off.

Francis swung with his right fist and caught Darryl on the chin. The soldier wiped a bit of blood from the corner of his mouth and faked a punch to Francis' face. Francis reached up to block the fake and Darryl' buried a fist in the Spree's stomach.

Breath rushed out of Francis and he fell to his knees, but quickly scrabbled backwards and away from Darryl's offensive.

Darryl took a step too close and Francis grabbed the Spec's shirt collar and brought his head down on Francis' knee, smashing his nose. Blood spurted into the air. Darryl staggered backward, one hand pressed to his face, momentarily blinded by the pain. Francis took the moment to think about what to do next. He now had five minutes. He had to get past Darryl and get inside. How?

Darryls' nose was healing. He would be on Francis again in a second.

Francis' eyes widened as he remember something. "_There are chemicals in limestone that repel the essences of ghosts. It is painful, to enter that building is to risk your essence falling to pieces, to risk not existing in this realm or any other. No ghost can enter that building."_

Bernard had said that. Limestone was fatal to ghosts. That was it! That was how he was going to beat Darryl.

Francis reached into his pocket and pulled out his gun. One bullet left. One shot. He aimed it away from Darryl, instead pointing the barrel at the steps. Francis pulled the trigger.

As the bullet left the gun, Francis forced every ounce of his ghostly power into it, willing it to become tangible. The bullet careened into the stone and shards of limestone flew into the air. A sizeable piece about the size of Francis' palm landed behind Darryl. It was jagged at one end.

Francis threw the gun away and ran at Darryl. Fully healed, Darryl caught Francis' arm and spun him, but Francis had expected that. He shifted his weight very slightly and sent Darryl backwards, off balance. Francis grabbed the shard and turned, grasping the front of Darryl's shirt. Francis hooked his foot behind Darryl's own booted foot and tripped the Spec.

Darryl went down and Francis jumped on top of him, stabbing the shard into Darryl's chest.

Blood welled around the wound and Darryl screamed and fought, his hands scratching and pummeling at any part of Francis they could get at. Francis pushed the shard deeper until he could no longer see it amongst the gore.

Francis jumped to his feet and away from Darryl.

The Spec was bucking wildly, hands scrabbling at his chest ineffectively. As Francis watched, the edges of Darryl seemed to fragment and disintegrate. His essence was falling apart. Slowly, Darryl began to fade, still writhing in pain. In a minute, he was gone.

Francis stared at the spot on the ground his enemy had just been when the clock tower chimed noon. Francis started, turned, and ran into the hospital.

* * *

"Please, we just need to hold off for one more day." Gear pleaded with Dr. Reilly.

"No, I'm sorry. We can't wait any longer. Now please, I'm running a few minutes behind schedule." Dr. Reilly walked into the operating room where Francis' body lay, all prepped for surgery.

Static was in there and he looked at Gear in hope. The genius could only shake his head sadly. Dr. Reilly nodded at his colleagues, all scrubbed up and sanitized, ready to begin and then he looked at the superhero duo. "You two will have to leave now."

Static and Gear headed for the door, lingering. Dr. Reilly raised the scalpel above Francis' chest.

"_Wait!_"

Francis skidded into the room. "Don't you fucking dare." He gasped.

Dr. Reilly dropped the scalpel and screamed.

Static grabbed Francis by the shoulders, smiling hugely. "You're here! How did you…where were…you're here!"

Gear moved forward and hustled the doctors away from the operating table. "This is why we wanted to postpone the autopsy. You see, Hotstreak's not dead."

All the doctors could do was stare.

"Oh no." Francis looked down at himself, beginning to fade already. He looked at Gear. "Let's do this." Then he vanished. The doctors all gasped. Dr. Reilly screamed again.

Gear pulled the GhostVision goggled on and motioned for Francis to approach his body. Then he took Static and positioned him at the head of the table.

"Okay, now you're going to have to get on and lie down, exactly as your body is.

"I'll fall through." Francis said, looking at the metal table.

"Just do it." Gear ordered.

Francis stepped up and lay down quickly. His body held firm beneath him, holding him in place. "Freaky."

"Okay, on the count of three, Hotstreak brace yourself and Static will shock you with everything he's got. Allow your heart and soul to rejoin if you feel it." Gear took the doctors and they stood by the door. "We're going to want to be out of the way."

Gear looked at his best friend and Francis. "You guys ready?"

Static and Francis nodded.

"One…two…three!"

Francis braced himself.

Static took a deep breath, put his hands on Francis' shoulders and let every ounce of electricity flow out of him. The room erupted in bright blue sparks of freed electricity.

Francis' body bucked and simmered.

Eyes clenched shut; Francis felt the pain of the electricity. Then he felt his body closing in over him, like a warm blanket. A hole was being filled. There was something thumping wildly in his chest, his soul. It was yearning to get back. Then Francis felt something familiar. The fire.

His metahuman abilities are what linked his ghost and mortal selves, and now it was welcoming him back. It felt right. It was the most natural thing in the world.

Gradually, the sparks died down and Static fell back against the wall, absolutely drained. "Did it work?"

Gear stared at the body, lying still on the table.

Suddenly, Francis sat up, in his own body. He grinned. "That was fun."

Dr. Reilly screamed and fainted.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Well that was fun. Yay! I will be writing one more chapter, because I like to end things on even numbers and this needs a denouement. Then, we'll see the end of another wonderful story of mine. Sad, huh? Oh well. I'll write another sooner or later. Hope you guys enjoyed it. And oh yeah, I waited in line at midnight to see Harry Potter and I want all of you to go see it if you have not already. Bloody brilliant it was!

PLEASE REVIEW!


	10. Chapter 10: Epilogue

Disclaimer: Still...no.

******Chapter Ten: Epilogue**

_**Dakota Tribune Monday News**_

_Back From the Dead?_

Reporter Shelly Sandoval

Last week, the city was shocked by the sudden death of Francis 'Hotstreak' Stone, 18. Stone was apparently killed in a late night skirmish between members of the metahuman gang, the Meta-Breed, the police, and local superheroes Static and Gear. Stone's body was moved to Dakota General Hospital where it has been stored in the morgue freezers for the past week. Yesterday afternoon, Stone came back to life.

None of those who were present at the resurrection, three surgeons, Static and Gear, or Stone himself have spoken to reporters but it is confirmed that Stone is alive and well with only a bruise to show for the cracked skull which killed him.

If last week's news of Stone's death alarmed the city, the news of his revival has sent a tremor through Dakota. It is unprecedented. Never before has a body shown no signs of life for six days and been revived.

Dr. Joseph Reilly hinted to reporters that there was something odd about what happened. He mentioned ghosts at some point but never clarified his statement, leaving the public to wonder what precisely was behind Stone's miraculous recovery and many to question the doctor's lucidity.

At the moment, Stone is being held at Dakota General for observation and is due for release in the next few days. It is not clear if Stone will be detained by the police, as he is a wanted criminal, or if an alternative course of action will be taken.

* * *

Francis stared out the hospital window at the sea of photographers and journalists standing guard on the street below. They were all aching for a chance to speak with him, or for him to show his face at the very least. Francis had been forbidden to do either and was confined to his hospital room.

Granted it was a very nice hospital room, the best in the whole place. But it was still a hospital room and Francis was eager to leave.

"Crazy isn't it?" Static asked, entering the rom.

Francis turned around and nodded. "Yeah."

"Have you seen this?" Static pulled the Dakota Tribune out from under his arm. "Reilly talked to reporters, kind of. He's still so freaked out he didn't make much sense…luckily. People will think we're insane if we start explaining Sprees and Specs to the press."

Francis took the paper and looked at the front page. "Well this is a much better picture of me. Very flattering."

Static laughed. "Yeah, it is."

Francis tossed the paper onto his bed. "So when can I get out of here? The doctor said I was fine. All I've got is a bruise that doesn't hurt."

"It's not as simple as that. People are going to ask questions… a lot of questions. We need to get a story straight." Static explained.

"What are you going to tell them?" Francis wondered skeptically. "I was dead and then I wasn't? How are you going to explain this?"

Static shrugged. "Medical phenomenon?"

"Oh please." Francis scoffed. "That super radical weird tabloid thing is calling me Jesus. People aren't going to buy that lame excuse."

"So what do you suggest?" Static asked.

Francis sat on his bed. "Eh, I dunno."

"Very helpful."

"Shut up."

They were quiet for a moment.

"So." Francis started. "Craziest week of your life?"

"Oh by far." Static agreed.

"Hey guys." Gear walked into the room, coffee cup in hand. "I just got the green light. We're okayed to leave. You ready?"

Francis jumped to his feet and nodded his head enthusiastically. "Hell yeah."

Static and Gear flanked Francis as they walked down the hall and into the elevator. Many prying eyes of patients and doctors followed them, all with questioning looks written upon their faces.

In the privacy of the elevator, Gear turned to Francis. "Here's the story I just thought of. There was a mistake, your heart was stopped when we arrived at the hospital and the doctors declared you dead and put you in the morgue but your heart began beating again that same day. Reports of your deadness over the last six days were false. Doctors were observing you the entire week and you've been fully alive since Tuesday. Any questions?"

"Is deadness a medical term?" Francis quipped lightly.

Gear frowned and Static laughed. "I'm ignoring that for time's sake. Now for legal action…you're not going to jail. We're giving you a 24 hour head start. Not exactly legal or by the book, but there you go."

"Sweet." Francis smiled.

Static grinned too. "Thought you'd appreciate that."

The elevator arrived at the first floor and the doors opened. Outside the sliding glass door, reporters noticed the movement and began shouting excitedly. Photographers snapped shots and the flashes became blinding. Static and Gear each put a hand on Francis' shoulder and guided him out the doors. The paparazzi parted for them, shouted questions and flashbulbs led to a chaotic, disorienting mess.

Static raised the hand not on Francis for quiet. Eventually, a hush fell over the crowd. Microphones were jabbed at Static to catch his every word. "We would like to make a statement."

Static then proceeded to recite, almost word for word, what Gear had told them in the elevator. The paparazzi listened attentively; the only sound was the frantic scrabbling of pencils on pads from those reporters without recorders.

"So that's about it. Now, if you would excuse us we have to be going." Static led the group forward but the reporters pressed against them in a wave.

""What do you have to say about Dr. Reilly's bizarre statements?"

"Hotstreak, what was it like in the freezer?"

"Are you going to use your newfound freedom to cause destruction?"

"How are all the medical reports for six days false?"

Gear and Static grabbed Francis and began shoving their way through the throng. "Francis will not answering any questions!" Gear shouted over his shoulder.

Francis started at the shout. It was the first time either of the heroes had called him by his real name.

"We have no more comments!" Static exclaimed, trying not to injure anybody as they barreled through the mob.

When the three reached the sidewalk the burst into a sprint and the swarm was not able to keep up. A few blocks away from the hospital and they were in the clear. The three ducked into an alley, Static and Gear to change back into Virgil and Richie and Francis to put on a hat to hide his own identity.

"That was insane." Francis gasped.

Virgil nodded. "Yeah, try having to deal with that whenever something happens, anything."

Francis shook his head in wonder. "And here I though heroes had the cushy job."

"So where are you going now?" Richie asked, pulling on his shoe.

Francis shrugged. "Find the Breed again probably. I need someplace to sleep. At least for a few days. After that I figured I'd take a break."

"Break from what?" Virgil asked.

"Everything." Francis frowned. He sounded tired. "I need to get away from Dakota for a while. I'll probably go to Gotham, lie low. Get my life back under control."

Virgil and Richie exchanged small smiles. "That sounds like a good plan. I'm happy for you." Virgil said.

"Thanks." Francis grinned. "I'll see you guys…sometime."

They shook hands and then the two superheroes left. Francis watched them go and then turned to head for the west side.

* * *

It was more difficult to get into the sewers when you couldn't jump through metal. Francis smirked and snapped his fingers, flames leaping to his fingertips on cue. God he had missed that. Putting one finger to the grate, Francis traced the manhole and melted the rim away from the street. He lifted the grate and slid inside.

Pushing aside his new anxiety of dark, enclosed spaces, Francis found his way to the concrete hideaway easily enough.

Unable to see if Bernard, Paige, or the others were even sitting in the main room, Francis picked up the tine and struck the metal triangle. The sound reverberated harshly.

Francis leaned back against the wall and waited, they would have to let him know they were there.

After a minute, there was a cold sensation on his arm. Francis looked down at the spot and smiled. "Paige?" The spot moved up and down in response. Yes.

"Anyone else?"

Paige tapped his arm twice. "Two of you. Bernard?" Another up and down motion.

"Great, you're the two I wanted to talk too."

Francis paused. He had no idea how to say what he wanted to tell them. "I killed Darryl. I guess you know that though." Up and down.

"I'm sorry I can't help anymore. I got to come back to my body and that's awesome…for me. You guys are still stuck here and that sucks. I wish you didn't have to." Francis took a deep breath and continued.

"I'm leaving Dakota. But before I do, I needed to say thank you. I wouldn't have been able to come back without you, especially you two. So thank you."

The cold spot remained still on his arm. They were listening.

"I guess…goodbye."

The cold spot disappeared. Then Francis felt it again on his cheek. Paige had kissed him goodbye. Francis stuck out his hand and another cold spot appeared on his palm. Bernard was shaking his hand.

"Bye." Francis smiled, turned, and left.

* * *

Francis didn't go seek out the Breed. He didn't care about saying goodbye to them, or anybody else in the city. He could go.

He didn't have a dime to his name, how was he going to afford a bus ticket to Gotham? And could he even avoid being recognized all that way?

Francis passed by a motorcycle dealership, one he had tried to rob before. It was closed. Francis looked at the store and then at the bus stop. Decisions, decisions.

Francis snapped his fingers.

* * *

_**Dakota Tribune Tuesday News**_

_Break-in at Dealership_

Reporter Shelly Sandoval

Last night at around six o' clock Dakota Motorcycle Dealers was broken into. The dealership was closed and there was no one in the store at the time. Security cameras were broken and the footage stolen, along with one motorcycle and helmet.

Story continued on page five…

* * *

Virgil looked up from his cereal at the front page of the paper his father was reading. There was a black and white photo of the dealership, complete with one perfectly burned hole in the wall. He groaned.

"You've got to be kidding me."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

And so we come to yet another end. Sad, isn't it? Hope you guys all enjoyed it. I liked writing it. I don't know when I'll be posting again, I don't have any ideas for a story so we'll see. So I watched the Borrowers last night (movie from my childhood, I'm sure some of you guys know what I'm talking about) and to my surprise Tom Felton, Jim Broadbent, and what's his face who plays Arthur Weasley were all in it. Like, baby eight-year-old Tom Felton. He was adorable. And his name was Peagreen. So I HarryPotterfangirled about it for a while. Also, Hugh Laurie was in it. It was astounding.

As per usual, PLEASE LEAVE A REVIEW! Otherwise you'll hurt my feelings and I'll think you didn't like the story.

Also, sorry this is short but it _is_ the epilogue and those are allowed to be short.

Update! Albino-ottsel was awesome enough to make a fanart from chapter 7. Check it out http :// www .gaiaonline .com/profiles/?u=9291657 without the spaces of course


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